i'm sorry if i wasn't around for a while. i got hit by a car.
and on that note, let's rant.
don't you just fucking hate things when they don't work on the time of day they're suppose to work. no, i'm not talking about complicated things that have complex circuit assemblies and shit. i'm talking about ordinary, mundane, every day things that seem to fuck up everytime we need them the most. what the fuck is up with that?!!
i mean, it's not like they have a mind of their own that they suddenly stop functioning at will and begin on an existential tirade of what the fuck life means or who gives a rat's ass about their existence. they are things! they don't have a brain! or do they?
:: calculator -- the most intelligent freak of the class of 2005 confidently enters the room full of nervous wrecks, cheaters, and dumbasses. they're about to begin what is the hardest and most important exam of their lives. the hardest and most important exam starts. mr. intelligent whips out his calculator. presses the power button. nothing happens. the calculator suddenly goes pfft.
the result: he finishes the exam 10 minutes before the alloted time expired. the goddamn virgin was so frustrated because he felt he didn't ace it. he goes home and hangs himself.
score: calculator - 1; geek who died a virgin - 0
:: shoelaces -- guy goes in the cafeteria. fills up his tray with every possible food offered in the menu. walks to his table. from the corner of his eye (left eye), he sees the new employee. a chick. a hot chick. all alone at her table. looking at him. as if inviting him to join her for lunch. and eventually shag in her apartment's couch after work. the guy senses the need. he slowly walks towards the new hot chick. he smiles. she smiles. his shoe laces get undone. he steps on it. he trips. he falls face flat on the bowl of peas. there's potato all over the place. and his pork chop just ruined his new calvin klien shirt.
the result: everybody laughed. the new hot chick laughed. his ex-girlfriend laughed. his bestfriend laughed. his boss laughed. even the toothless fat lady who cooks the peas laughed. everybody. he skipped lunch. quit work. and went home hungry and unemployed.
the score: shoelaces - 1; guy trying to be cute while holding a tray full of food - 0
:: fly zipper -- big party. lots of guests. top honchos of major tv networks. talent scouts. important bimbos and shit. he was the entertainment for the night. the newest stand up comedian on the rise. the buzz of the town. he was booking gigs left and right. and this, by far, was the biggest gig of 'em all. then the time came. he took center stage. everyone was quiet. he started off with his first joke. everyone was laughing. laughing real hard. second joke, everyone was still laughing. everyone laughed non-stop all throughout his set. he can't believe it. then he waves goodbye. he suddenly realizes, his fly was open. and he forgot to wear his boxers.
the result: his little pecker peeked at everyone in that important party. and it was the ugliest, funiest, and tiniest pecker anyone has ever seen. he gave up stand up comedy to work in a sweater factory.
score: fly zipper - 1; sienfeld wannabe with a small dick - 0
:: lighter -- was raining. hard. he just came out of the bar at 4 am, two hours past the last call. he can still hear her say those words: it will never work between us. again, he started to cry. like a sissy. really cry. like a 10-year old girl with pigtails who wanted ice cream. he walked. about four blocks. that became eight. that became twelve. he was looking for some cigarettes. at four in the morning. under the rain. he crosses the street. no cars, no cabs, no lights, no nothin'. then he remembered, he still has a stick left somewhere inside his jacket. he frisks himself. and there it was. the stick. and like heaven was on his side, the rain stopped as he took out his last stick for the night. it was like salvation. there, at the middle of the street, he put the stick in his mouth and took out his lighter. the damn lighter won't work. he kept trying. still, nothing. by now he's pretty pissed. at everything. the lighter, the cigarette, the wet road, the darkness. he was yelling out expletives like there was no tomorrow. then out of nowhere, a car came out of the darkness. he was hit in the leg, was tossed a good 15 feet in the air, and landed head first on the sidewalk.
the result: well, what the fuck do you think? of course the guy died. his skull was cracked open for chrissakes!
the score: the car - 1; heart-broken bosa nova - 0
***
now if these things don't work the way they're suppose to work when you need 'em and where you need 'em the most, then what makes you so sure that microsoft longhorn will?
i rest my fucking case!
i'm out.
5.30.2005
5.21.2005
desribe yourself in one word
heard it a lot of times.
everytime you get to the "getting-to-know-you" part of retreats, seminars, summer camps and even the first day of classes, they always have it.
stand up. say your full name. say your nickname. and to keep it real short, describe yourself in one word and why?
now what the fuck does this do? nothing, actually. it's just a stupid routine done by every pale-skinned, pimple-faced, sexually frustrated camp counselor. it's nonsense, that's what it is.
so far, i've heard desriptions like:
(1) i'm cool -- because i'm cool as ice baby! yeah! (bullshit! if you're cool, then why the fuck do you always carry around a pocket calculator? geek! you're a geek!)
(2) i'm friendly -- because i'm always here to listen. (really? well listen to this then. i don't think you're friendly, bitch!)
(3) very artistic -- because i'm really good in the arts. (i can see that. but is that an excuse not to wash your hair? take a shower you fucking hippie scum!)
(4) religious -- because i go to mass every sunday. and i love jesus! i really do! (woman, don't say that. for your own good, don't say that. because you might be personally talking to god before this session is over.)
(5) funny -- because i like telling jokes and i like making people laugh and i'm a very jolly person. here's a joke, what do you call a hundred lawyers chained at the bottom of the ocean? hm, c'mon tell me, what? hahaha! this is so funny! (the fuck! have you been on heavy medication lately? maybe you haven't noticed, but people laugh at you not with you, dumbass! yeah, that's because you look like a snot.)
when it was my turn, i simply said this:
A MISTAKE.
and i didn't bother explaining. why? because i don't feel like i owe a bunch of strangers an explanation of who i am.
i am a mistake, that is that. people who know me would agree to this.
i'm out.
everytime you get to the "getting-to-know-you" part of retreats, seminars, summer camps and even the first day of classes, they always have it.
stand up. say your full name. say your nickname. and to keep it real short, describe yourself in one word and why?
now what the fuck does this do? nothing, actually. it's just a stupid routine done by every pale-skinned, pimple-faced, sexually frustrated camp counselor. it's nonsense, that's what it is.
so far, i've heard desriptions like:
(1) i'm cool -- because i'm cool as ice baby! yeah! (bullshit! if you're cool, then why the fuck do you always carry around a pocket calculator? geek! you're a geek!)
(2) i'm friendly -- because i'm always here to listen. (really? well listen to this then. i don't think you're friendly, bitch!)
(3) very artistic -- because i'm really good in the arts. (i can see that. but is that an excuse not to wash your hair? take a shower you fucking hippie scum!)
(4) religious -- because i go to mass every sunday. and i love jesus! i really do! (woman, don't say that. for your own good, don't say that. because you might be personally talking to god before this session is over.)
(5) funny -- because i like telling jokes and i like making people laugh and i'm a very jolly person. here's a joke, what do you call a hundred lawyers chained at the bottom of the ocean? hm, c'mon tell me, what? hahaha! this is so funny! (the fuck! have you been on heavy medication lately? maybe you haven't noticed, but people laugh at you not with you, dumbass! yeah, that's because you look like a snot.)
when it was my turn, i simply said this:
A MISTAKE.
and i didn't bother explaining. why? because i don't feel like i owe a bunch of strangers an explanation of who i am.
i am a mistake, that is that. people who know me would agree to this.
i'm out.
5.20.2005
what happened?
7:22 pm. a guy walks in a bar. he's obviously tired from work. loosens his tie and unbuttons that pesky choker known as the shirt's top button choker.
he orders for two shots of vodka. bartender obliges. he downs the first shot. no problem. he looks at his watch. it's 7:29. he downs the second shot. no problem. he orders another double. both went down in a couple of seconds. then he orders a beer. he leans forward with elbows on the bar. he chills.
five minutes later, he turns to the bar tender and asks who won the game. the bartender doesn't answer. didn't hear the question.
then a voice of a lady suddenly said the lakers lost again. he looks at the end of the bar and sees the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen in his entire life. sweat starts rolling down his forehead. his heart is pounding so hard, he could've sworn he saw it jump off his chest and do the macarena right there at the bar. he closes his eyes. for a minute. focus. focus. gets up from his chair. walks. walks. walks with a swagger. he feels like bruce lee. or bruce wayne. either way, he's beaming with confidence. he'll score tonight. no doubt.
a few seconds later, his face is about six inches away from the woman. he feels nervous. very. the woman's smiling. looking at his eyes.
he asks her if he can buy her a drink. the woman doesn't answer. instead, she reaches out for her bag and takes out a knife. with one stroke, he's down on the floor. holding his left ear. well, actually the woman is holding his left ear. he's just bleeding. messy. very. badly.
then the woman gets up. pays for her drink and walks out the door. he looks at his watch, it's 2:30 am.
***
i'm out.
he orders for two shots of vodka. bartender obliges. he downs the first shot. no problem. he looks at his watch. it's 7:29. he downs the second shot. no problem. he orders another double. both went down in a couple of seconds. then he orders a beer. he leans forward with elbows on the bar. he chills.
five minutes later, he turns to the bar tender and asks who won the game. the bartender doesn't answer. didn't hear the question.
then a voice of a lady suddenly said the lakers lost again. he looks at the end of the bar and sees the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen in his entire life. sweat starts rolling down his forehead. his heart is pounding so hard, he could've sworn he saw it jump off his chest and do the macarena right there at the bar. he closes his eyes. for a minute. focus. focus. gets up from his chair. walks. walks. walks with a swagger. he feels like bruce lee. or bruce wayne. either way, he's beaming with confidence. he'll score tonight. no doubt.
a few seconds later, his face is about six inches away from the woman. he feels nervous. very. the woman's smiling. looking at his eyes.
he asks her if he can buy her a drink. the woman doesn't answer. instead, she reaches out for her bag and takes out a knife. with one stroke, he's down on the floor. holding his left ear. well, actually the woman is holding his left ear. he's just bleeding. messy. very. badly.
then the woman gets up. pays for her drink and walks out the door. he looks at his watch, it's 2:30 am.
***
i'm out.
5.18.2005
again, feeling random
i haven't shaved for two days and suddenly i look like a character from planet of the apes. fucking facial hair! i hate facial hair. the only benefit of me having facial hair is i can grow wicked goatees in as short as two weeks. after that, the 'tee becomes high maintenance. and i hate shaving around goatees and shaping them every morning. argh! it's just too much work for someone who just woke up and haven't had enough coffee in his system. it's just too much work for someone who has to hurry up to catch the bus. it's just too much work for someone who has fat fingers. there, i said it.
***
and what's the fuss about the grand opening of the new star wars movie? so what??? i think it's bullsith... i mean, shit, bullshit! we can pretty much draw the story ourselves after episode one right? anakin skywalker, son of a slave, was given to the jedis for training. the only reason he moved to the darkside was because obi-wan always kept an eye on him, everywhere. in his sleep, in the bathroom, everywhere. and all anakin wanted to do, as a normal kid with an insane count of mediclorean, was to masturbate all day. hey, it ain't easy being a jedi when you're in your teens. you always have to control the "force." no wonder anakin was so pissed at obi-wan. "he's holding me back!" he said.
yoda: fear leads to anger. anger leads to hate. hate leads to suffering.
me: no, yoda, you shriveled, incoherent maggot! sexual frustration leads to suffering. that's why anakin fucked amidala real well everytime they saw each other.
***
i don't really have a third topic. so i think i'm just gonna go now.
i'm out.
***
and what's the fuss about the grand opening of the new star wars movie? so what??? i think it's bullsith... i mean, shit, bullshit! we can pretty much draw the story ourselves after episode one right? anakin skywalker, son of a slave, was given to the jedis for training. the only reason he moved to the darkside was because obi-wan always kept an eye on him, everywhere. in his sleep, in the bathroom, everywhere. and all anakin wanted to do, as a normal kid with an insane count of mediclorean, was to masturbate all day. hey, it ain't easy being a jedi when you're in your teens. you always have to control the "force." no wonder anakin was so pissed at obi-wan. "he's holding me back!" he said.
yoda: fear leads to anger. anger leads to hate. hate leads to suffering.
me: no, yoda, you shriveled, incoherent maggot! sexual frustration leads to suffering. that's why anakin fucked amidala real well everytime they saw each other.
***
i don't really have a third topic. so i think i'm just gonna go now.
i'm out.
5.15.2005
then i woke up
we all had them.
bad dreams. weird dreams. of the dry or wet variety. in black and white or in full, textured, vibrant colors. short ones or long ones, like an epic. we've had 'em. funny thing is, i've never been bothered by dreams or what they mean.
is it my subconscious cryin' out for help (stop watching teen movies, motherfucker! julia stiles ain't all that!)? or is it just my imagination going haywire even when i'm sleeping (hey, with a few silicon implants here and there, julia stiles can be hot!)?
but i've never been bothered. not until this morning when i realized that for the first time in a long time, i didn't have one. a dream. so it got me thinking about the past dreams i had. and i'd like to share them with you.
***
i was in a barbershop, the one that i frequent, to get a blow job. of course not. jeez. to get my hair cut, what else. anyway, i asked for my barber, roland. the lady said roland's not there. he called in sick. i said i badly needed a haircut because i'll be going to this important party the following day. she told me wait in the barber's chair. then she called in the new guy. out came from the back of the shop a guy sporting a full beard and long hair. they guy looked like bo bice, only taller. then he asked what kind of hair cut? and i said just an inch off the sides and the back.
then he said, "okay. but before i cut your hair, think about it."
then i went, "think about what?"
then he said, "do you think it's gonna make you change?"
then i went silent for a while. i was looking at him at the mirror. he was looking back at me.
"look, dude, bo, whatever your name is, i just want my haircut, and i'm in a hurry. so, please, if you could just..."
"i was just messin' with you. one haircut comin' right up. by the way, the name's jesus."
then i woke up.
***
i was watching kill bill vol. 1 at the living room. then i suddenly heard my cousin's voice from the kitchen.
"dude, i thought i heard someone knock. go check the door."
"you do it, i'm watching a movie here."
no answer. then after ten minutes the whole kitchen was covered with thick, white smoke.
"hey, what the fuck are you doing there?"
he comes out from the smoke holding a bag of chips and a waterpipe and said, "i'll be at the bathroom. if that kill bill chic, uma thurman, knocks on the door tell her i'll be out in a minute."
then i woke up.
***
was at the office. getting some work done. suddenly i get this email from kofi annan. weird? oh it gets better. his subject read: re:hey! increase your manhood by 4 inches!
so i opened the damn thing. it only had two sentences in it. it said, "dear friend, maybe you can help us out. the unicef needs more guns!"
then i woke up.
***
john lennon, yes THE john lennon, and i were having coffee at this dingy cafe. he wasn't saying much while i was bugging him all day for an autograph.
then he took off his trademark lennon glasses and said, "you know what most blokes know little of? it's that yoko ono was the best sex i've ever had."
i said, "okay..."
silence.
then he said,"you should write that down."
then i woke up.
***
now, if you can interpret dreams, please email me, why? i dunno. for you to waste time, i guess.
i'm out.
bad dreams. weird dreams. of the dry or wet variety. in black and white or in full, textured, vibrant colors. short ones or long ones, like an epic. we've had 'em. funny thing is, i've never been bothered by dreams or what they mean.
is it my subconscious cryin' out for help (stop watching teen movies, motherfucker! julia stiles ain't all that!)? or is it just my imagination going haywire even when i'm sleeping (hey, with a few silicon implants here and there, julia stiles can be hot!)?
but i've never been bothered. not until this morning when i realized that for the first time in a long time, i didn't have one. a dream. so it got me thinking about the past dreams i had. and i'd like to share them with you.
***
i was in a barbershop, the one that i frequent, to get a blow job. of course not. jeez. to get my hair cut, what else. anyway, i asked for my barber, roland. the lady said roland's not there. he called in sick. i said i badly needed a haircut because i'll be going to this important party the following day. she told me wait in the barber's chair. then she called in the new guy. out came from the back of the shop a guy sporting a full beard and long hair. they guy looked like bo bice, only taller. then he asked what kind of hair cut? and i said just an inch off the sides and the back.
then he said, "okay. but before i cut your hair, think about it."
then i went, "think about what?"
then he said, "do you think it's gonna make you change?"
then i went silent for a while. i was looking at him at the mirror. he was looking back at me.
"look, dude, bo, whatever your name is, i just want my haircut, and i'm in a hurry. so, please, if you could just..."
"i was just messin' with you. one haircut comin' right up. by the way, the name's jesus."
then i woke up.
***
i was watching kill bill vol. 1 at the living room. then i suddenly heard my cousin's voice from the kitchen.
"dude, i thought i heard someone knock. go check the door."
"you do it, i'm watching a movie here."
no answer. then after ten minutes the whole kitchen was covered with thick, white smoke.
"hey, what the fuck are you doing there?"
he comes out from the smoke holding a bag of chips and a waterpipe and said, "i'll be at the bathroom. if that kill bill chic, uma thurman, knocks on the door tell her i'll be out in a minute."
then i woke up.
***
was at the office. getting some work done. suddenly i get this email from kofi annan. weird? oh it gets better. his subject read: re:hey! increase your manhood by 4 inches!
so i opened the damn thing. it only had two sentences in it. it said, "dear friend, maybe you can help us out. the unicef needs more guns!"
then i woke up.
***
john lennon, yes THE john lennon, and i were having coffee at this dingy cafe. he wasn't saying much while i was bugging him all day for an autograph.
then he took off his trademark lennon glasses and said, "you know what most blokes know little of? it's that yoko ono was the best sex i've ever had."
i said, "okay..."
silence.
then he said,"you should write that down."
then i woke up.
***
now, if you can interpret dreams, please email me, why? i dunno. for you to waste time, i guess.
i'm out.
5.11.2005
at least...
when you're down. i mean really down.
like life betrayed you.
like you have this intense burning desire to purchase this stupid gadget that you really don't need, and you know it'll be phased out in a couple of months with a newer, more sophisticated, more expensive version that has no significant upgrades whatsoever from the older version, only it looks more cool now because they have it in metallic silver, and you thought you'd be more popular at work because you're the only one who owns such a gadget even if you don't know what the fuck it does, but you're broke. (got that? good.)
like you're up for promotion for about 18 months now, and you've worked so fuckin' hard to impress your boss, only to see the new guy who has been in the office for just four months snatch the job of your dreams from right under your nose. then you begin to suspect your boss is really into men because he has this smile, like he just got his dick sucked by the new guy every time they finish their super confidential close-door meetings on tuesdays.
like you almost got ran over by this pre-owned, recently waxed, bmw, owned by this pompous, smart-ass, pimple-faced virgin, shit-eating business major who just graduated from college and thinks he knows everything in the world because he's the day manager over at a mcdonald's franchise owned by his father.
like your life's a really bad sequel. of a really bad movie. like encino man. and you're pauly shore.
please remember, that at least:
you don't have an identical siamese twin.
who is a bother attached at your shoulder.
and he's gay.
and you're not.
and you saw him take the KY Jelly out of the medicine cabinet because he has a date coming over.
and you only have one ass.
think about it. and learn to put things in perspective.
i'm out.
like life betrayed you.
like you have this intense burning desire to purchase this stupid gadget that you really don't need, and you know it'll be phased out in a couple of months with a newer, more sophisticated, more expensive version that has no significant upgrades whatsoever from the older version, only it looks more cool now because they have it in metallic silver, and you thought you'd be more popular at work because you're the only one who owns such a gadget even if you don't know what the fuck it does, but you're broke. (got that? good.)
like you're up for promotion for about 18 months now, and you've worked so fuckin' hard to impress your boss, only to see the new guy who has been in the office for just four months snatch the job of your dreams from right under your nose. then you begin to suspect your boss is really into men because he has this smile, like he just got his dick sucked by the new guy every time they finish their super confidential close-door meetings on tuesdays.
like you almost got ran over by this pre-owned, recently waxed, bmw, owned by this pompous, smart-ass, pimple-faced virgin, shit-eating business major who just graduated from college and thinks he knows everything in the world because he's the day manager over at a mcdonald's franchise owned by his father.
like your life's a really bad sequel. of a really bad movie. like encino man. and you're pauly shore.
please remember, that at least:
you don't have an identical siamese twin.
who is a bother attached at your shoulder.
and he's gay.
and you're not.
and you saw him take the KY Jelly out of the medicine cabinet because he has a date coming over.
and you only have one ass.
think about it. and learn to put things in perspective.
i'm out.
5.10.2005
stoopid (what a way to spell)
okay. a confession.
back in college, there was this one morning i really tried very hard not to be late for an 8AM exam. it was a math exam, but what the fuck, who gives a shit? anyway, as usual, i got up 7:30, downed a cold cup of coffee i left in my mug from the night before, had a stick of cigarette, and hit the shower. everything was pretty normal. until the point i decided to change my normal shower routine. you see, like most normal dorks, i strictly follow a shower routine that could take as long as 15 minutes:
(1) shave
(2) brush my teeth
(3) take a big dump
(4) soak up in the shower
(5) shampoo
(6) masturbate (oops!)
(7) lather up with soap
(8) rinse
(9) then towel dry
on that fateful day, however, i skipped routine #6 and interchanged #5 and #7. the result: i had soap in my eyes. and since i was in a hurry, i was dumb enough not to rinse it off. i reached for the bottle of shampoo instead. with my limited vision, i got the bottle, squeezed out a fair amount, and proceeded to work my hair. then it started to smell funny. the shampoo. it didn't smell like head and shoulders. it smelled like that same smell i smell when i wash the dishes. that made me think for a while, "what the fuck? i thought of a sentence that had the word "smell" in it thrice!"
then i started to rinse. then i saw it. it wasn't head and shoulders. i was surprised. and i acted all surprised too. i put on the "maculay-culkin-home-alone-part-1" surprised face complete with hands on the cheeks and mouth wide open. i was practicing that face for years. finally, i got to use it.
going back to the story, yeah it was not shampoo. instead, the thing i had in front of me was a yellow bottle of dish washing liquid. now ain't that nice eh? i had a math exam in 10 minutes, memorized a bunch of math formulas and solved shitloads of math problems all night when i realized i'm the most stupid fat guy to ever shower in the world.
how did a bottle of dishwashing liquid end up in the bathroom? i don't fucking know.
what happened after that? i was late, because, again, i spent a good 10 minutes tying my shoelaces. but i aced the exam. because if there's one thing i'm good at, it's math. believe it.
***
but then, i realized that my stupidity was actually inherited. that means i can't take full credit for every blunder that i make in life. it's genetic, you see. my grandfather (from my mom's dad) once added tide (yes, the powdered soap tide) in his coffee because he thought it was coffeemate. the grandfather also once used bleach on his hair because he thought it was conditioner. apparently, he also had soap in his eyes at the time, and he stepped out the bathroom sporting an eminem do. my uncle (my mom's younger bro) once had hair mousse on his beard and moustache because he thought it was shaving cream. and just the other day, my mom was hysterical in the living room because she can't turn down the volume of the TV. she said the remote was busted. then i pointed out to her that the thing she was holding was not the remote, but her cellphone (i wish i'm making this up, but all happened for real).
after that, i thought, wow! i got the stupid gene from my mom's side! and with that discovery i yelled "woot!" at the top of my lungs.
i thanked my mom. i said if it wasn't for her, i'd completely go through life with low self esteem because i'd think my stupidity is my own doing. now i can just blame her side of the family! then i hugged her, and kissed her, and said, "happy mother's day, stupid mom."
she smiled.
i'm out.
back in college, there was this one morning i really tried very hard not to be late for an 8AM exam. it was a math exam, but what the fuck, who gives a shit? anyway, as usual, i got up 7:30, downed a cold cup of coffee i left in my mug from the night before, had a stick of cigarette, and hit the shower. everything was pretty normal. until the point i decided to change my normal shower routine. you see, like most normal dorks, i strictly follow a shower routine that could take as long as 15 minutes:
(1) shave
(2) brush my teeth
(3) take a big dump
(4) soak up in the shower
(5) shampoo
(6) masturbate (oops!)
(7) lather up with soap
(8) rinse
(9) then towel dry
on that fateful day, however, i skipped routine #6 and interchanged #5 and #7. the result: i had soap in my eyes. and since i was in a hurry, i was dumb enough not to rinse it off. i reached for the bottle of shampoo instead. with my limited vision, i got the bottle, squeezed out a fair amount, and proceeded to work my hair. then it started to smell funny. the shampoo. it didn't smell like head and shoulders. it smelled like that same smell i smell when i wash the dishes. that made me think for a while, "what the fuck? i thought of a sentence that had the word "smell" in it thrice!"
then i started to rinse. then i saw it. it wasn't head and shoulders. i was surprised. and i acted all surprised too. i put on the "maculay-culkin-home-alone-part-1" surprised face complete with hands on the cheeks and mouth wide open. i was practicing that face for years. finally, i got to use it.
going back to the story, yeah it was not shampoo. instead, the thing i had in front of me was a yellow bottle of dish washing liquid. now ain't that nice eh? i had a math exam in 10 minutes, memorized a bunch of math formulas and solved shitloads of math problems all night when i realized i'm the most stupid fat guy to ever shower in the world.
how did a bottle of dishwashing liquid end up in the bathroom? i don't fucking know.
what happened after that? i was late, because, again, i spent a good 10 minutes tying my shoelaces. but i aced the exam. because if there's one thing i'm good at, it's math. believe it.
***
but then, i realized that my stupidity was actually inherited. that means i can't take full credit for every blunder that i make in life. it's genetic, you see. my grandfather (from my mom's dad) once added tide (yes, the powdered soap tide) in his coffee because he thought it was coffeemate. the grandfather also once used bleach on his hair because he thought it was conditioner. apparently, he also had soap in his eyes at the time, and he stepped out the bathroom sporting an eminem do. my uncle (my mom's younger bro) once had hair mousse on his beard and moustache because he thought it was shaving cream. and just the other day, my mom was hysterical in the living room because she can't turn down the volume of the TV. she said the remote was busted. then i pointed out to her that the thing she was holding was not the remote, but her cellphone (i wish i'm making this up, but all happened for real).
after that, i thought, wow! i got the stupid gene from my mom's side! and with that discovery i yelled "woot!" at the top of my lungs.
i thanked my mom. i said if it wasn't for her, i'd completely go through life with low self esteem because i'd think my stupidity is my own doing. now i can just blame her side of the family! then i hugged her, and kissed her, and said, "happy mother's day, stupid mom."
she smiled.
i'm out.
5.07.2005
look
it was not just hectic. it was fuckin' insane!!!
for the past week, i've slept a total of less than 16 hours. my brain's so sore right now i can actually feel it squishing against the inner lining of my cracked skull. i cracked my skull when i was four. i bit the hand of my nanny. dropped me head first. no, actually she grabbed me by my feet and swung me against an anvil. yes, i'm lying. no human being would've had the strength to carry me when i was four. but i did crack my skull. yes, i'm a spaz.
so, i got out of work about half an hour ago. decided to have coffee to pump some sort of life to my tired, sore, zoned out brain. was sitting outside the cafe. smoking. my chin rested on my left palm, which was supported by my dark, chaffing, manly left elbow that rested on the cold steel table. my right hand was holding a cigarette over an ashtray. my eyes were staring into blank space. my mind was blank. didn't want to do anything.
suddenly from the corner of my eye, i saw this girl looking at me. no, she wasn't checking me out. the last time somebody checked me out, i was 14. that somebody was a man. anyway, she was looking at me. i was bothered. of course by the way she looked at me. you know. like she has a dozen smart ass comments going through her head about the way i dressed and how pathetic i am and shit.
i may have been a bit paranoid. hey, haven't had enough sleep, remember?
but still i was bothered. so i looked at her too. and i gave her that look. you know. the kind of look that seemed to say, "hey bitch! i may be fat and balding, but at least i make it look good. you, on the other hand, are just ugly. wait. no, you're not ugly. you're mediocre ugly! you're not even the kind of ugly that makes people turn around, look at you twice, and have an impact on their lives for even ten seconds. right now, i'd like to kick you in the groin!"
then she looked the other way. ha! that'll teach her not to stare at people. especially cranky, spazzed out people with cracked skulls.
***
to the readers of this blog. i miss you all. i love you all. and i'm not lying. just been busy lately. you know, work, life, burly guys. i'm really tired. feeling very random. not stable at the moment. i hope you understand. as if you care. heh.
i'm out.
for the past week, i've slept a total of less than 16 hours. my brain's so sore right now i can actually feel it squishing against the inner lining of my cracked skull. i cracked my skull when i was four. i bit the hand of my nanny. dropped me head first. no, actually she grabbed me by my feet and swung me against an anvil. yes, i'm lying. no human being would've had the strength to carry me when i was four. but i did crack my skull. yes, i'm a spaz.
so, i got out of work about half an hour ago. decided to have coffee to pump some sort of life to my tired, sore, zoned out brain. was sitting outside the cafe. smoking. my chin rested on my left palm, which was supported by my dark, chaffing, manly left elbow that rested on the cold steel table. my right hand was holding a cigarette over an ashtray. my eyes were staring into blank space. my mind was blank. didn't want to do anything.
suddenly from the corner of my eye, i saw this girl looking at me. no, she wasn't checking me out. the last time somebody checked me out, i was 14. that somebody was a man. anyway, she was looking at me. i was bothered. of course by the way she looked at me. you know. like she has a dozen smart ass comments going through her head about the way i dressed and how pathetic i am and shit.
i may have been a bit paranoid. hey, haven't had enough sleep, remember?
but still i was bothered. so i looked at her too. and i gave her that look. you know. the kind of look that seemed to say, "hey bitch! i may be fat and balding, but at least i make it look good. you, on the other hand, are just ugly. wait. no, you're not ugly. you're mediocre ugly! you're not even the kind of ugly that makes people turn around, look at you twice, and have an impact on their lives for even ten seconds. right now, i'd like to kick you in the groin!"
then she looked the other way. ha! that'll teach her not to stare at people. especially cranky, spazzed out people with cracked skulls.
***
to the readers of this blog. i miss you all. i love you all. and i'm not lying. just been busy lately. you know, work, life, burly guys. i'm really tired. feeling very random. not stable at the moment. i hope you understand. as if you care. heh.
i'm out.
5.03.2005
i'd choke april with my bare hands
i had the worst april of my pathetic life. and by all indications, it won't get any better anytime soon.
most of it had to do with work. and pressure. then stress. the combination of the three never fails to upset my stomach.
for the past four weeks i was frantic. i was having panic attacks. well, sort of panic attacks. i was desperately cramming three months worth of work into these four short weeks. i was working even on weekends. and if you thought working on a monday was bad, try working on a sunday. that'll be just super!
only time i get to rest is when i sleep, or go for a leak, or smoke, or blog. i usually blog to relieve stress. either that or i go relentlessly punch holes in the wall and violently curse at my desk lamp. fuck you desk lamp! okay, i'm lying. i don't have a desk lamp. i curse at my tape dispenser. fuck you tape dispenser! fuck you! okay, that felt better. jesus fuckin' christ, i'm pathetic.
but what do you do when you run out of walls to punch holes in? you rant.
:: people who can't understand what "call back after 15 minutes" means -- it seems that i can't convince people, even over the phone, that what i do is important. everybody takes a break. i get left behind because i'm working. the phone rings. i answer it. caller looks for someone not there at the moment. i politely ask him to call back after fifteen minutes.
that should've been enough, right? wrong.
forty seconds later, the same guy calls back and asks for the same person. "look, dude, i'm not lying here. they've all gone for a 15-minute break. just hang up, wait for 15 minutes, then call back. or i can take a message and have him call you back. okay? okay." wrong again.
two minutes later, phone rings, same guy. "fuck! dude, do you know why the fuck am i talking to you right now? that's because i sacrificed my 15-minute break to get more work done. and i'm not getting anything done with you calling three times for the past three minutes. what the fuck is your problem? is it that important? are you lonely? are you a loser? attention whore? call back in 15 minutes, wackjob!!! hang up right now or this phone will be shoved up your ass faster than you can hit that redial button!!!
15 minutes later.
hey steven, your mother called. yeah, three times.
:: people who are "high on life" -- somebody had elmo for breakfast. yeah, you see them everywhere. they have this big goofy grin on their faces. you ask them what they're on, and they answer, "hey man, i'm high on life!" now what the fuck is that???
"high on life? please bore us with your spiritual mambo jumbo oh enlightened one."
"dude being high on life means everything's clearer. everything's in perspective. everything's blah blah blah"
"okay. i get the point. please shut up and turn the other way."
"but it's sooo much better when you're high on life. everything's sooo much clearer, everything's blah blah blah..."
"okay, that's it. shut up. or what'll be clearer to you is the back of my hand repetitively slapping you across your eyes. get it? good. and you still don't shut up, i'll go bash your head on the pavement for about forty times. by then, you'll be higher than life. you'll be beyond life. you'll be in the afterlife. and you can't get any higher than that, believe me."
:: my fucking shoelaces that keeps getting undone -- okay, i can't, for the friggin' life of me, get my attention straight. like for instance, it really takes me a long time to get dressed in the morning because i can't get focused. eventually i wind up staring at the wall for a good fifteen minutes. yeah, the wall with the holes. then i have to do my shoelaces. since i have this homer simpson belly sticking out, i get so fucking frustrated just bending over and tying them. *frustrated!!!* so i tie them real fucking well, like i triple knot them and shit. but immediately after every time i have lunch, the fucking shoelaces magically come undone. what the fuck is wrong with you shoe??? why do you do this to me? stay tied motherfucker! stay tied!!!
now i don't know what magical force is behind this annoying mystery of life, but i'm going to get to the bottom of this.
do i have a jedi knight office mate that just likes to see me scream obscenities at my shoes that's why he unties them by using "the force?"
do we have ghosts in the office that are so fucking playful, they'd like seeing fat guys bend over and struggle to triple knot stubborn shoelaces? is it casper? well if it's casper, then he's not that friendly after all isn't he? no wonder the dude's fucking dead!
i'm going to get to the bottom of this.
i'm out.
most of it had to do with work. and pressure. then stress. the combination of the three never fails to upset my stomach.
for the past four weeks i was frantic. i was having panic attacks. well, sort of panic attacks. i was desperately cramming three months worth of work into these four short weeks. i was working even on weekends. and if you thought working on a monday was bad, try working on a sunday. that'll be just super!
only time i get to rest is when i sleep, or go for a leak, or smoke, or blog. i usually blog to relieve stress. either that or i go relentlessly punch holes in the wall and violently curse at my desk lamp. fuck you desk lamp! okay, i'm lying. i don't have a desk lamp. i curse at my tape dispenser. fuck you tape dispenser! fuck you! okay, that felt better. jesus fuckin' christ, i'm pathetic.
but what do you do when you run out of walls to punch holes in? you rant.
:: people who can't understand what "call back after 15 minutes" means -- it seems that i can't convince people, even over the phone, that what i do is important. everybody takes a break. i get left behind because i'm working. the phone rings. i answer it. caller looks for someone not there at the moment. i politely ask him to call back after fifteen minutes.
that should've been enough, right? wrong.
forty seconds later, the same guy calls back and asks for the same person. "look, dude, i'm not lying here. they've all gone for a 15-minute break. just hang up, wait for 15 minutes, then call back. or i can take a message and have him call you back. okay? okay." wrong again.
two minutes later, phone rings, same guy. "fuck! dude, do you know why the fuck am i talking to you right now? that's because i sacrificed my 15-minute break to get more work done. and i'm not getting anything done with you calling three times for the past three minutes. what the fuck is your problem? is it that important? are you lonely? are you a loser? attention whore? call back in 15 minutes, wackjob!!! hang up right now or this phone will be shoved up your ass faster than you can hit that redial button!!!
15 minutes later.
hey steven, your mother called. yeah, three times.
:: people who are "high on life" -- somebody had elmo for breakfast. yeah, you see them everywhere. they have this big goofy grin on their faces. you ask them what they're on, and they answer, "hey man, i'm high on life!" now what the fuck is that???
"high on life? please bore us with your spiritual mambo jumbo oh enlightened one."
"dude being high on life means everything's clearer. everything's in perspective. everything's blah blah blah"
"okay. i get the point. please shut up and turn the other way."
"but it's sooo much better when you're high on life. everything's sooo much clearer, everything's blah blah blah..."
"okay, that's it. shut up. or what'll be clearer to you is the back of my hand repetitively slapping you across your eyes. get it? good. and you still don't shut up, i'll go bash your head on the pavement for about forty times. by then, you'll be higher than life. you'll be beyond life. you'll be in the afterlife. and you can't get any higher than that, believe me."
:: my fucking shoelaces that keeps getting undone -- okay, i can't, for the friggin' life of me, get my attention straight. like for instance, it really takes me a long time to get dressed in the morning because i can't get focused. eventually i wind up staring at the wall for a good fifteen minutes. yeah, the wall with the holes. then i have to do my shoelaces. since i have this homer simpson belly sticking out, i get so fucking frustrated just bending over and tying them. *frustrated!!!* so i tie them real fucking well, like i triple knot them and shit. but immediately after every time i have lunch, the fucking shoelaces magically come undone. what the fuck is wrong with you shoe??? why do you do this to me? stay tied motherfucker! stay tied!!!
now i don't know what magical force is behind this annoying mystery of life, but i'm going to get to the bottom of this.
do i have a jedi knight office mate that just likes to see me scream obscenities at my shoes that's why he unties them by using "the force?"
do we have ghosts in the office that are so fucking playful, they'd like seeing fat guys bend over and struggle to triple knot stubborn shoelaces? is it casper? well if it's casper, then he's not that friendly after all isn't he? no wonder the dude's fucking dead!
i'm going to get to the bottom of this.
i'm out.
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