Dahil Gusto Kong Mag-Post Ngayon Pero Wala Akong Okey na Shit na Pwedeng Ikwento Sa 'Yo

45. nasabi mo kasi ikaw ay isang agnostic, bakit ba nagkakaroon ng taong gustong patunayan na toto ba ang diyos o wala?

dati 'yun. ngayon naniniwala na kong may diyos. pero wala pa rin akong relihiyon. sa tingin ko relihiyon ang dahilan kung bakit nagkakaron ng alitan at di pagkakaunawaan ang mga tao. na isang napakalaking kabalintunaan kasi iisang diyos lang naman ang pinaniniwalaan nila. nagkakatalo lang sa pangalan.

46. If insects are so obsessed with bright lights, why don’t they fly off to the sun?

ever seen insects fly during daytime? moths, to be exact?

47. Ano kumuha ka na ng pagsusulit sa abogasya?

hindi 'bar' ang kukunin kong pagsusulit. eksaminasyong pang-CPA 'yun. at bagama't maaari kong ituloy sa abogasya, ayoko pa ring maging abugado. tama na ang sakit ng ulo sa buwakanginang CPA review.

48. Miss you?

rhetorical?

49. ...

fuck. this. shit.

i'm at it again. losing focus. becoming like the effin' immature lackadaisical bastard that i once was. throwing precious seconds out of the glass-splintered window. like i can ask time how much she is just to abide by my fuckin' whims and caprices.

get a fuckin' grip. time is not a bitch that you can grab by the mane to give you a mind blowin' orgasm.

last three letters: C. P. A.

50. you

me

51. ano na balita boy?

malapit nang bitayin. dalawa't kalahating buwan na lang. last happy meal? french fries. 'yung large size ng mcdo.

52. If you were a genie and a person asked you this wish, "I wish you would not grant me this wish", what would you do?

take your pick: stupid, moron, imbecile.

53. There are 24 hours in a day, and 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?

no. a 1:1 hour-beer ratio is completely incommensurate. consult a statistician.

54. If a person with multiple personalities threatens suicide, is that considered a hostage situation?

if he has a beautiful mind like john nash's, possibly. otherwise, he can proceed with his dreary theatrics.

55. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn't think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the frien

funny how your questions seem to inadvertently relate to my answers. i was just talking about death and edgar allan poe and here you are speaking some death omen of sorts. i think i'll write a flash fiction about death. soon. by soon i mean after my deathly board. *groan*

56. The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier have given you the ability to resurrect the dead famous-person of your choice. So which late celebrity will you bring back to life?

edgar allan poe. his morbid tales amuse me to no end. i'll ask him to read his "stories of death" while we cherish inebriation amidst a backdrop of howling canines, restless tree silhouettes, and all things supernatural up above a mystic pregnant moon.

57. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What's it gonna be?

the power to extend my orgasmic dexterity until my paramour's juices have all gone dry. kidding, of course...not.

58. Anong tanong ang kinatatakutan mong itanong ko sa iyo?

'yung tanong na sa sobrang personal at sensitibo eh mas gugustuhin ko pang makipag-isang gabing tayuan kay vice ganda at chokoleit nang sabay kesa sagutin 'yung tanong na kinatatakutan ko.

59. baket po ba madaming nagmamaal kay bob ong? ...at isa ko sa mga yun? hahahha. ^_^

dahil si bob ong ay repleksiyon ng kolektibong boses ng ordinaryong pinoy na hitik sa imahinasyon at natatanging idyosinkrasiya't sariling gawi sa lipunang puno ng kabalbalan at kabalahuraan. ang mga akda niya ay sumasalamin sa kakaibang kaugalian at tradisyon nating mga pinoy, bagaman at inilalahad niya ang mga ito sa paraang nakakakiliti ng tumbong at hindi nakakaumay.

60. ako may tanong, seryoso 'to, ano po pagkakaiba ng orgy sa group sex? seryosong sagot ha. :D 18+ naman mambabasa mo maliban sakin :D

alam mo parekoi, ngayon lang ako nahirapang sumagot ng tanong dito. kelangan ko pa talagang kalkalin ung lumang kama sutrang pinamana sakin ng kalolo-lolohan ko. nyahahaha!

sa kadahilanang napakaselan ng tanong mo, gagamit tayo ng pananalitang katanggap tanggap sa pandinig ni aling laguardia bagaman at andun pa rin ang ubod ng paliwanag mula sa talentadong class S na kukote ni lio loco.

eto na...

sa makabagong talasalitaan, walang pinagkaiba ang orgy sa group sex. palasak ang paggamit ng dalawang salitang 'yan sa usapan ng mga lahing mapusyaw ang kulay at malaya nilang naipagpapalitan ang dalawang nabanggit na salita. parehong kelangan ng higit sa dalawang nilalang. parehong pagtikim sa luto ni aling bebang ang pakay. parehong walang kasing-sarap na kaligayahan ang rurok pagkatapos.

pero kung sa pinong pagkakaiba ang nais mong malaman, eto ang maliit na detalyeng nakalkal ko sa lumang baul ng aking mga ninunong malilibog.

ang group sex eh nangangahulugang pagtikim ng higit sa dalawang tao sa isa't isang putahe lamang. maaring umikut-ikot ang putahe pero dapat lahat eh kasama pa rin sa tikiman.

ngunit kapag ang tikimang naganap eh hindi lang napirmi sa isang putahe lang at biglang nagkaroon ng isa pang ulam na kelangang tikman, na di malaon eh magdudulot na ng kaniya-kaniyang tikiman, orgy na ang tawag dun.

61. naks! ang lalim! kung naging estudaynte kita, pasado ka na sa intro to psych... e yung balahurang eksplaneyshun?

'yung balahura? simple lang. recession ngayon. sa ganitong marami ba naman ang nagugutom, pipiliin pa ba namin 'yung kupap at alang laman? 'yun na.

62. eto question: bakit ba mga lalake mahilig sa malalaking boobs?

ano ang gusto mong sagot: 'yung balahura o sayantipik?

kilala mo ba si pareng sigmund freud? hinde? hmmkei. siya 'yung austrian psychiatrist na super sikat kasi balahura at ibang klase ring mag-isip tulad ni lio loco. okei, joke lang. hehe.

anyway highway, isa sa mga teorya niya kung bat daw mahilig ang lalake sa gatas, este...sa knockout knockers eh dahil nag-ugat daw ito ever since iniluwal kami rito sa mundong ibabaw. i am referring op kors sa mahiwagang gatas ng ina.

in short, simula pa pagkabata eh sinanay na kami sa close affinity sa malulusog na boobs at mala-rosas na utong ng aming mga inahin. ang close affinity na 'to ang dahilan kung bat hanggang sa pagkatanda eh laway na laway pa rin ang mga manyakis sa hubog ng dalawang buko ng opowsit seks.

subconsciously, ipinapaalala kasi sa kanila 'yung kakaibang bond nila with their mothers, simula nung sila eh pinapadede pa sa dibdib ng kanilang mommies.

walang halong malisya 'to. this is based from the theoretical perspective of freud. 'yun lang naman.

63. may tanong ako: ang manila paper ba pag binili mo sa cavite, manila paper pa rin?

manila paper pa rin ang tawag dun sa papel maski na sa cavite mo binili yun. dahil ang salitang manila sa "manila paper" eh tumutukoy sa "manila hemp," ang halaman kung saan yari ang papel, at hindi ang lugar ng maynila.

64. Solusyon ba ito sa kasalukuyang problema ng buong mundo, isama mo na rin ang kalawakan, ang lalim mula pa sa kailalaliman?

maaari. maaari ring hindi. ito eh depende sa kung saang perspektibo mo titingnan. ngunit sa ganang akin, mas nanaisin kong magkaroon ng iba't ibang pisikal na kaanyuan ang bawat nilalang na mundo. isipin mo kung gaano kabilis ang pagkabano kung ang taong kasalamuha mo eh pareho't pareho ng iba pang tao sa mundo, bagaman at magkakaiba pa rin ang nilalaman ng kalahating kilong karne sa ulo.

65. Kung magkakamukha ang pisikal na kaanyuan ng tao, ano ang kalagayan ng mundo?

maaaring malilito tayo kung sino ang pwedeng ligawan o pwedeng anakan, kung sino ang pwedeng kaibiganin at kung sino ang kupal lang, kung sino ang may puke at kung sino ang nagkukunwaring may puke talaga. pero iisipin kong maganda rin ito maski papano dahil walang magsasabing mataba ka at maalindog siya, seksi si Aling Nena at payatot si Palito, anak-nognog ka at maputi sila. higit sa lahat, pantay-pantay ang tite nating lahat. walang magsasabing mas malaki ang tite niya ng dalawang pulgada!

pero dahil "pisikal" lamang ang pagkakahawig nating lahat, gusto kong isiping magkakaron pa rin ng indibidwalistikong pananaw at kaniya-kaniyang punto-por-punto ang bawat isa bagaman at magkakatulad tayong lahat sa panlabas na anyo. naroon pa rin ang hindi pag-sang-ayon sa tinuran ng isa at pagpapahalaga sa sariling prinsipyo na sa tingin ko'y isa sa pinakapambihirang kakayanan meron ang tao.

sa madaling salita, tulad pa rin ng kasalukuyan nating realmo. ang pagkakaiba lang, magkakamuka lang tayong lahat.

66. Hi, Just stumbled on yr blog. Gleng. You have a bright future ahead kid! Ewan nga lang kung pang-CPA...mukhang dapat creative-field pinasok mo. TC!

thanks for the ego-boosting flattery. the blog's currently in hiatus mode and yes, that's because i'm focusing on getting the three-letter title at the moment.

not that i'm full of braggadocio but i think i know what i'm capable of achieving and the three-letter title is part of the assessment of my self-worth. still, thanks for the two-cents'.

p.s. i'm seriously considering enrolling in creative writing sometime soon. of course, that's after getting past my current number crunching dream. good times!

67. what's this?

a pronoun. demonstrative to be exact.

68. hahah eh kung mag kantutan nalang tayo ha mga pare ngayon lang nmn eh

magpalagay ka muna ng puke, pre!

69. Asan ka ngayon?

isa ka bang tagahanga o stalker? palagay ko ikaw rin 'yung nilalang na nagtanong ng parehong tanong na mas nauna pa rito.

palagay ko rin parehong sagot pa rin ang makukuha mo. [see previous question and answer]

70. What's the nicest thing someone's ever done for you?

sex, no strings attached.

71.What celebrity would play you in a movie about your life?

haven't thought of that yet. but definitely NOT john lloyd friggin' cruz. the celebrity must be someone cantankerous and generally apathetic. ely buendia, perhaps?

72. Asan ka ngayon?

sa kahabaan ng españa, kapiling ang pinakamamahal kong casio s-v.p.a.m. fx-991MS at ng mga tone-toneladang accounting shitnitz.

*Halaw mula sa samu't-saring shit na sinagutan ko sa formspring. May shit ka bang nais sabihin sakin pero hindi mo masabi nang personal kasi di naman talaga tayo magkakilala nang personal? Itanong na!

*Mas mainam siguro kung binasa mo ang mga tanong mula ibaba pataas. Alphabetically arranged From most to least recent kasi ang pagkakasunod ng mga shit.

Buy One, Take One

Dreams are for kids. And when you become an adult, they shrink. And you can never go back to realizing them anymore.

        - Stephen King

The monotonous pounding of the laptop's keyboard is amplified by the sickening pounding of this deranged young man’s head, convinced that drinking bottles of vodka ‘till the neighborhood sweeper begins to perfunctorily do his job in the empty Espana rubbles at five in the morning is in itself a fuckin’ stretch.


Never again, he reminds himself, never again dare drink unfamiliar liquor at the assurance of a comrade that the inebriating fluid, pitched in by a marketing ploy of claiming to be the “finest alcohol, slowly filtered through carbon, giving  a clear crisp taste,” won’t kick your guts and hurl you in an all-familiar territory of pitch-dark blackout and sour vomit.

Today I am writing about me after more than six months of self-imposed reclusive hibernation and how it was to be holed up in a random cardboard box filled with Manila paper posts of things to remember and pointers to review, thick textbooks demanding to be read and understood over and over again, and a mad scramble of side-B boxers and empty foils of potato chips under the bed bunk.

As I write there is a tingling sensation in my finger tips and my face seems to be propped up for some Chinese needle therapy, a rather expected result of dusk-‘till-dawn inebriation with familiar faces who cheered you on as you finally decided to face the oft-eluded chance to get on with the college “what-if” dream of becoming a licensed number cruncher.  There is an invisible mallet pounding my temples but I continue to write because the invisible mallet is no match to the hundred and eighty days I spent like a Michael Scofield lab rat in some ancient-looking house plastered with “Rooms for Rent” and “Wanted: Bedspacers” on its façade.

I imagine there are far more excruciating encounters than living a life of a hermit reviewee devoid of social interactions and sexual activities but I will tell you that I don’t fuckin’ care. Today I will continue to ramble about my six-month hiatus and how it is to live on a steady staple of scrambled eggs and canned corned tunas and eventually becoming emaciated due to three-to-five hours of rest at night simply because there are so much more accounting concepts to cover than dozing off to dreamland of caressing taut tits of naked FHM cover girls.

This is how I became a prisoner of my number-crunching dream for more than six effin’ months:

You realize that Somebody Up There has finally decided to give you the golden ticket to fulfilling your long-time dream. He gives your sister a job, the sister tells you go quit yours and take the review, you relinquish your breadwinner title and quit your twenty-five-grand-a-month-worth call-whoring, and you consequently take your ass on some stochastic boarding house once and for all.

You go to review school five days a week, listen to brilliant Accounting geniuses ramble about the intricate and complex concepts of the seven dreaded Board subjects five hours a day, spend the rest of the day following up the lecture with late-night-‘till-dawn reading, and you wake up the next day doing the same fuckin’ routine.

You drown your subconscious with financial statement assertions and complex auditing nuances, stock up on formulas of breakeven point and margin of safety and liquidity and solvency ratios, you suffer from nosebleed understanding the Latin terms of culpa aquilinia, dolo causante, compensation mora, and traditio longa manu, you count the various forms and differences of input tax and output tax and other percentage taxes and when and where to pay these fuckin’ taxes, and immerse yourself to the intricacies of business combinations and foreign exchange transactions and difficult derivatives until you bleed to death.

You quit blogging and smoking and drinking, inadvertently become celibate in spite of you loathing the Roman Catholic dogma, you cut off your ties with family, friends and acquaintances, risk closely becoming a likely patient of the nearest asylum, and you isolate yourself with the rest of the world because you know this dream is the most fuckin’ demanding dream you’ve ever had to deal with so far.

You repeat the same tedious schedule for a hundred and eighty days, give or take, until finally, here comes reality bitch telling you that the time is up and you need to haul your ass to MLQU to take the damn Board.

Today I have just woken up from a post-liquor marathon deep slumber after being exasperated over two friends’ inebriated nonsensical yadda yadda’s, another’s heavy difficult breathing due to too much alcohol intake, and another’s flush of sour barf of shanghai rolls and soy-dipped tofu at four in the morning and I am amused at how silly and maddening it is to be in the company of these crazy clique once again. I am aware I got irked by the loud blatherskite of some of them but it is easy to forget becoming temperamental if you understand that most of these same people will call their bosses the next day concocting alibis of suffering from embarrassing diarrhea and deciding not to go to work at all just so they could keep you company until the bottles have all gone dry.

Today I realize that much has happened within a span of six months and while I’m pretty sure that big changes will come my way soon enough, I am comforted by the fact that the bond with friends and belief from family members that I can do it stays the same.

Today I will tell you why I pound the keyboard like a madman in spite of the sickening pounding on my head. Today I write, after more than a hundred eighty days of self-imposed reclusive hibernation, because I would like to tell you that the questions of long-time “what-ifs” and “what-could-have-beens” have finally ceased.

Today I will proudly tell you that I fuckin’ passed the Board.

[But wait...there's more!]

Flash Fiction: Whore

Babala: Ang susunod na maikling kwento ay isang kathang may konting libog at kabastusan. Pinapayuhan ang mga batang mambabasang gabayan ng kanilang malilibog na magulang. Hindi para sa mga supot at konserbatibong Katoliko ang flash fiction na 'tong bunga lamang ng malikot na isipan. Sa madaling salita, fuck off.

Life is a merry-go-round circus freak.

He didn’t know, much less care, about other people’s perception but for him, there’s something about life’s unending, there-and-back-again litanies that make him puke his guts out. A lot of people are phony and the fact that his life can be phonier than these mindless marionettes just seems to be agitating, like how you secretly watch your first porn encounter at home when the folks are away and you are alone feeling pretty much hornier than your high school voyeur neighbor and you feel like thinking about nothing but sex every gawddamn minute.

Phony is what you call a man living in front of a hollow celluloid of circuits and gigabytes, speaking in some technical gibberish, reluctantly answering phone calls upon fuckin’ phone calls from some gawdforsaken Occidental land just so he could be decent enough to society’s dictum as someone well worth some parents’ dole outs in the past. It’s one of the biggest bull he had to contend with in his pathetic way of living and he didn’t like it. Oh he gawddamn hated every inch of his job’s fake American accent and hell-cursing Johnny Doe customers.

If he had any choice, which is obviously not within his grasp under present circumstances, at least not right now, he’d rather be a normal underpaid nine-to-fiver – never mind if he gets to sit his stationary ass in the most boring swivel chair job this fuckin’ universe has to offer. Or maybe some frackin’ artist weirdo in one of those recluse boondocks up north of Manila, in some remote mountain range where artists birthed with nationalistic names hermit with all that Zen shit and artist mojo.

But life has its own way of dishing out theatrics. Sometimes what you want is given to somebody else, and that somebody else’s dream becomes yours for the taking. There has got to be someone, some people out there who wished they were right in his stinking soles and if he had to call the shots he’d give it to them nonchalantly, as in how a transient soul would drop a dime to a filthy beggar’s rotting hand up on the graffitied overpass, teaching him how to get a fish from others instead of how to catch a fish on his own.

You can only imagine then how going to work had been an affair of reluctantly dragging one’s wrinkled balls every gawddamn day for the man of this story. He abhorred having to adjust his pathetic life cycle of eating, sleeping, waking up, taking a shit every other three weeks or so. Fleeting. Lackluster. Stereotypical. Gawd knows how utterly ruined his circadian rhythm had become, loose springs and all, rusting and callous and every bit ready to snap in a jiffy.

He hated waking up in an impious hour when everyone else is fuckin’ drooling his way off to dreamland, repressing his psycho tendencies to arson the building where he resides just because he thought it was not fair to live when all the others are dead. He detested taking a bath in cold-wicked tap water and scrubbing his naked body to oblivion when just a wall away, his hot coitus goddess of a neighbor’s privates are fondled by some ephemeral beau, her orgiastic moans and sexual sighs reverberating across the thin partition.

Sex.

He smirked while thinking of this much shunned taboo. In a society where Internet porn and secret sexual fantasies and liberal minds abound, he found it odd how some still regard it as something unspeakable and how most are still trapped in their ancient beliefs. The world is growing and there is nowhere to go but up, nothing to do but be part of the inevitable change; else, be forsaken and drifted away to primordial void.

In its present context, sex is a superfluous word often associated with them call center professionals. Call center professionals, he liked the sound of that. The Western people who brought this toast-of-the-decade profession, this saving grace of Third World countries’ reeking under- and unemployment innards, are famous for this kind of sugarcoating things. Calling a matchstick man horizontally-challenged, a house for old people to die home for the aged, a woman suffering from bulimic gluttony someone with mild case of having sweet tooth – what does it make a difference? A spade is a spade and it never changes even if you call it a darn, shitty shovel.

But how he sort of liked his job description being perfumed into call center professionals he cannot say the same about society’s wrong notion of how they’re effin’ worse than the flesh peddlers of the biblical Sodom and Gomorrah. His friend, one tedious time, told him about how the slut he fucked viewed those nocturnal, American-accented yuppies as worse than them, the original hawkers of the oldest profession in the world. She said nocturnal folks like him are class-A sluts in baggy pants and tight skirts, smoking their sexual urges in Marlboro Reds under an impregnated moon, when the night is as stiff as a throbbing cock and the midnight air as damp as a fingered vagina.

There were stories of sex scandals done in haste inside enclosed elevator doors, of bluetoothed quickies in call center cubicles – he was aware of these exhibitionist acts filmed within the confines of his work place via 3gp-capable cellphones but this, in his opinion, does not suffice to call all of them worse than bitches of the flesh underworld. Perchance some promiscuous call boys and call girls do have such insatiable libidos, and he may justify everyone else does anyway, be it in the open or secretly so, but he thought it was unfair to come up with such hasty generalizations. At the very least, not all of them live and breathe one-night-stands and three-minute quickies. No sirs and madams, he swears by the kinky knot of a necrophile’s pubic hair, not all of them do.

But last night, what happened unexpectedly last night, seemed to have mocked his fervent idea of his profession’s uprightness. Perhaps there is some truth to judgmental society’s dictum after all. Perhaps, like the rest of the nocturnal urban yadda yadda blatherskites, as the slut his friend fucked for half a thousand grand professed, he’s just one slutty piece of fake American-accented crotch.

Last night he celebrated his 30th birthday swigging the night away in some random bar with a select number of friends, the slut-fucking friend included, and he surprisingly got a good head as an unexpected birthday present. Thirty, for crying out loud. Thirty! You know how much some people loathed, nay, dreaded, getting past the calendar mark? He was one of them age-conscious freaks, paranoid over finally reaching the end of the line, or at the very least the last line of a typical calendar anyway, having gone through innumerable depressions and rejections and quarter-life crises and all that sentemotional clusterfuck.

For most people, reaching this age means officially belonging to the serious, bill-laden adults club who are better off preoccupied creating house expense pie charts rather than breathing the obnoxious AC blast of thriving malls and spotting scrumptious behinds in string-thin T-backs to combat Manila’s delirious heat. Gawd how he wished to be eternally twenty. If he had to throw a coin at a wishing well where the hellish Japanese freak in ghastly white robe might have crawled out, he’d ask to be twenty once again, living out the Hakuna Matata way of adolescent living, gulping a shitty atmosphere of raves and rants and digressions, just being the twenty-year-old bastard that he once was.

But thirty he was last night and at the very least, he got a delightful, under-the-table blow job as a consolation. There was this young girl, by his gauge around 17 or 18, who very much looked like that Meteor Garden doll and he never thought she was up to the job, never thought she was one wicked cock connoisseur. She almost looked like someone who just had her first bouts of menstrual flow to tell you the truth and her reticent smile exuded that child-like naiveté, like a young girl whose young mind knows nothing about penis size and condom flavors and Catholic-banned sex education particulars. But looks, as the cliché goes, can be quite deceiving and last night, oh yes last fuckin’ night, he had to surrender to the deception of this ambidextrous girl’s shaft expertise.

The place was a haze of second-hand smokes and beer bottles gone dry, a swirl of lips smack of malice and lies and bodies agonizing for friction of the flesh. The night had become inebriated and it was a convenient way for her to chameleon a sleep on his lap, pretending her intoxication was getting the better of her for she had one too many drinks already. His band of brothers didn’t mind as all of them fuckin’ sex bastards were pretty much busy caressing taut tits and waterfall pussies hidden beneath thin blouses and scrimpy skirts. Inebriation had sunk in and manners had to be shoved aside for bastardly barbarism.

She unzipped his fly and he cupped the startled penis inside the boxer shorts, alternating between her left and right hand, proving right there and then how one bloody gifted ambidextrous she was. She ran her fingers along the above-average length of his shaft and he let out an uncalled wince for the unexpected gesture, like how a slight tap of a mallet propels the knee to jerk in reaction. But she knew better, of course. She reassured him with tender kisses at the base, caressing the bare terrain of clean-shaven pubic hair, and stranger he was no more.

On the table everything seemed to be quite as what you expect a table in a bar of cheap thrills on a Saturday night ought to be – cold beer bottles swaying like mad, their thirsty orifices locking the lips of some hungry young urban professionals from Third World hell. Under it there was a familiar ritual of primitive past, of Strength and Beauty sweating it out within the claustrophobic confines of a bamboo pole until it cracks out of their sheer intensity, conveniently hiding the actors away from the reproachful eyes of sinners and pseudo-saints. It would have been better if they did it within the walls of some cheap motels promoting the glory of fornication but he would have had it no other way; he liked the building suspense, the probability of unleashing his inner beast. The thrill of being caught in such a promiscuous act all the more ignited the passion of orgasmic emotions.

Each throb of his penis was reciprocated by her tongue’s warm licking; each twitch compensated by her deep throat swallows. She bobbed up and down, up and down like how a San Fernando Valley blonde and blue-eyed bitch titillated you with her masterly lollipop licking in those syndicated porn videos your dad or uncle kept hidden in some faraway cabinet but still reached your hand in some future time anyway, as in some cheap porn you watched while home alone, every now and then ejecting and then pushing the tape back to the player, the sole witness of your mischief as a young man, for fear of whispered footsteps in the front door and a curious boy's naked body in front of the TV set the fateful subject of your mom and dad’s shock bordering to revulsion.

Up and down her skillful tongue slid until he could no longer contain the boiling climax. He arched his back with beer bottle in one hand and a tight grip on the slit-eyed cock sucker’s head in the other, jerking forward and back with the slightest trace of carnal movement, moans unceremoniously suppressed in the hope that his friends, circumstance demanding them full attention to fondling some bitches’ bodies themselves, won’t find them in such lewd sexual position.

And then, as if the mythical Armageddon had dawned on the bar dwellers, all hell broke loose. Some seconds of drowning in coitus nirvana. Ecstasy. Eternal bliss. Delirium. And he could no longer contain it. He spurted spoonfuls of point-of-no-return semen, gawddamn cummed like one of those pathetic reality TV sluts of sick three-minute scandals and she swallowed all of it, not wanting to spill any minute drop. For a short moment, he felt the world shaking at his feet, stars in the galaxies bursting in defiance, the Final Reckoning blanketing his gaze. And then he was back to his old self, back to the company of his breast-fondling friends, back to the maelstrom of nicotine sticks haze and laboring beer bottles on some dingy bar table.

Blame it on the impressive cock sucking of that San Chai clone or perhaps he just had one too many bottles swigged last night but earlier today, he felt like banging his head on the wall for suffering a skull-splitting hangover. He knew it’s not going to be a gawddamn good day but to hell with it; since when exactly did he wake up on the right side of the bed anyway, like some much-hyped boy wizard having a taste of Felix Felicis to make things right? SSDD, his friend would surely tell him. Same shit, different day.

Indeed, not a good day it was for calls upon calls, at the call center production floor, he had to breathe in and breathe out for a couple of seconds just to get his sanity intact. The phone line was queuing and he had to fuckin’ deal with it. Deal with some phony Western customers on the other side of the globe who had nothing better to do than bitch about their gawddamn boring lives. It didn’t help that he wrongly chose a work station situated between one loud piece of headset whose mouth reeked of the most unbearable halitosis ever recorded in the call center history and another agent whose feet stank of fermented jock socks and ogre soles.

“Thank you for calling Technical Support. My name is Jay, how can I help you today?” He was tired from blabbering nonstop technical diatribe but he still tried to sound professional enough.

“I can’t connect to the Internet!” A voice in that distinguishable twang hollered on the other line. Whatever she was calling about, she was serious about it. And by the looks of it, how irately so.

She was firing a verbal barrage of complaints upon fucked up complaints, about how the Internet service sucked and how the company promised it would give her high-speed Internet service but only ending up in contention with the slowest dial up connection in her area. In times like these, he knew the only way to pacify such type of customers is to have them vent out their frustrations over the service. He let the woman on the other line rant until she seemed to have lost her supply of saliva.

“We do apologize for the inconvenience ma’am but don’t worry, I can definitely assist…”

“Yeah, yeah…Yeah right. Cut the crap, will you?”

“Ma’am, I…”

“Oh sure, you’re sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. It’s the same lousy excuse I’ve fuckin’ heard from you, useless tech support people.”

“Ma’am, if you could just…”

“You’re not from one of those stupid off-shore Indian call centers, are you?”

“I’m from the Philippines, ma’am. Manila, Philippines.”

“Oh motherfuckin’ gawd!”

“If you’d just let me help you, I assure you I’m as capable as the on-shore…”

“Well lemme tell you something. Your fuckin’ assurance does little to get me comforted. Mean what you say and get me fuckin’ connected, brown monkey!”

Things were getting out of hand now. He was sincere about helping her, despite the weariness and exhaustion the queue had given him, but such crabbiness was a bit toeing off the line. What did she know about the fatigue brought about by twenty fuckin’ seven calls and counting that’s draining the life in him? People have limits and it does not do well to stretch one’s patience to the limit. Keeping his cool is too much to ask under such circumstances, especially when an unfair berserk customer hurls seemingly limitless cuss words and R18 invectives upon his already sullied person.

He was shaking with anger.

The profanity continued.

An uncontrollable headache began to mound on his head.

The bitching was unrelenting.

A spark building up from within.

Rant.

Rant.

Rant.

A twitch inside his head.

Yadda.

Yadda.

Yadda.

“Die, you bitch!”

Suddenly, a choking on the other line. The bitch’s ranting ebbed, only to be replaced by a gagging sound. A gagging sound as if someone was being strangled to death. A series of chokes. Some stifled coughing. Fading. Fading away. Gone.

And then the bitch was heard no more.

He spoke.

Not in the manner that he professionally delivered his greeting awhile ago but in a way of fright and trepidation. He called the woman’s attention on the other line. Twice. Three times. The line was not dead but there was no response. He stood up, eyes wide open, the veins on his ball sockets throbbing fast and abnormally. Could it be?

Terror gripped him like a vulture. Irrational comprehension dawning on him. Goose bumps on his flesh. Eyes wide open, still in contention with Ripley’s biggest ball sockets. Body as limp as a flaccid penis. Skin as pale as that sissy Twilight bloodsucker.

He walked out.

He walked away past the lifeless shells of RAMs and circuits, past the work stations of beeping AVAYA phones and nonstop murmurs from call center drones, past the sickening yadda yadda production floor. He took the stupid malfunctioning lift and after reaching the first floor, he walked past the scrutiny of the inutile guards, them fuckin’ A-holes, who are apparently paid by the company only to watch Internet porn at the lobby; past the nicotine addicts loitered in front of the call center building whiling away their fifteen-minute breaks, probably never getting fucked by the time they reach 60 because by the time they reach 60 they’re dead coffins consumed; past the beggar of brittle bones and tattered clothes curled like an ugly maggot beneath the neon street light, this one never ever going to be fucked because sluts can be choosers; past the eerie, hollow breadth of the urban street he had long since been used to, engulfing him in the fuckin’ shadows of the unknown.

Life is a merry-go-round circus freak and its people fuck-me-Freddy whores.

Wifi

Sa susunod na papasok sa isang mamahaling restawran para mang-umit ng libreng Intarnetz:

1. Siguraduhing fully charged ang baterya ng laptop para hindi ka mabitin sa pagba-bloghop.

2. Magdala ng listahan ng mga kung anu-anong shit na ida-download para hindi nabablangko kung anong website ang pupuntahan pagdating sa restawran.

3. Wag maging palangiti sa mga waiter at waitress para hindi mapagkamalang mabait ka at magbibigay ka ng malaking tip pagkatapos mong kumain.

4. Sumimangot at ipakita ang kagaspangan ng pag-uugali sa mga serbedora para tantanan ka na sa paulet-ulet at nakakarinding tanong na "Sir, may kailangan pa po ba kayo?" at kung anu-ano pang variation ng tanong na 'to.

5. Namnamin ang bawat hibla ng manok na binudburan ng isang botelyang harina, hatiin sa isanglibong piraso ang pizzang nagmukang minatamis na panghimagas sa sobrang dami ng pinya, paikutin nang paikutin sa tinidor ang pasta, at wag ubusin ng isang lagukan ang isang baso ng Sprite para makatagal sa pag-Iintarnetz.

6. Wag igagala ang paningin sa kung saan-saan at umismid sa mamang malaki ang katawan para hindi mapagkamalang naghahanap ka ng ka-M2M.

7. Umupo sa pinakasulok, yung hindi ka matatanaw ng kahit na sinong kupal, para hindi ka mapagkamalang litratistang kumukuha ng piktyur ng mongoloid na pamilyang pati walang kakwenta-kwentang loob ng restawran eh ginagawang extension ng tourist spot.

8. Siguradahing may mga magagandang chikas na nagpapa-presko ng kepyas sa loob ng restawran bago ipasok ang tite pumasok para hindi madisappoint kung saka-sakaling puro mga gurang at babaeng tinubuan ng tiyan ang mga bilbil ang makakasama sa loob.

Saging na Sabang Double Up

John Prats: Pwede pong magtanong?

Tindera ng yosi: Ano yun?
John Prats: Di ba po ang pinaikling tawag sa sigarilyo eh “yosi”?
Tindera ng yosi: Oo.
John Prats: Sa tingin niyo po, bakit po siya tinawag na “yosi”?
Tindera ng yosi: Hindi makasagot.
John Prats: Kung ang pinaikling tawag po sa sigarilyo eh yosi, ibig bang sabihin na ang pinaikli ring tawag sa sigarilyas eh “yasi”?
Tindera ng yosi: Nagulumihan na.
John Prats: Kapag po ba nilipat ko sa kabilang kamay ko ‘tong yosi, ang tawag po ba dun eh “second-hand smoke”?
Tindera ng yosi: Gusto nang hakutin ang paninda at manood na lang ng Wowowee sa bahay.

Biglang sasabat ang usisera sa likod ng artista. Magpapabibo sa kamera dahil napag-alamang makikita ang karakas niya sa telebisyon pag nagkataon.

Usisera: Oo, second-hand smoke ang tawag dun.
John Prats: Bakit po?
Usisera: Kasi nga nilipat mo ‘yung yosi sa kabilang kamay mo. Kaya second-hand smoke.

Naniniwala akong ang mga Pilipino eh maalam at likas na matatalino. Naniniwala akong kaya nating makipagsabayan sa mga Kanluraning bansa pagdating sa paglinang ng sariling kaalaman at ang tanging lamang lang nila satin eh ang bahagyang tatas nila sa pagsasalita sa wikang Ingles at ang bahagya ring haba ng tite nilang maugat ng mga dalawang pulgada. Give or take.

Pero maaari mo bang ipaliwanag sakin kung paanong naging depinisyon ng second-hand smoke ang paglipat ng sigarilyo sa kabilang kamay mo?

At bigla kong naisip na sa lalim ng bahang dulot ng buwakanginang Ondoy at Pepeng, hindi malayong naanod din ng tubig-baha ang kakayahang mag-isip nang maayos ng karamihan sa mga kababayan natin.

Found: Floating cranium on the nearby Pasig River.

N.B. Sa lahat ng mga nagtatanong kung tuluyan na bang tinangay ni Pepeng si Lio Loco patungo sa kung saan mang baybaying puno ng mga Intsik behong nilalang, ikinalulungkot kong ipaalam sa inyo na bukod sa bahang hanggang paang nang-trip lang sa pinagkukutaan ko eh mabuti-buti't naghuhumindig pa rin naman ang tite ko sa lamig.

Pasalamat na lang at hindi kami napabilang sa kalunus-lunos na estadistikang walang humpay na iniuulat sa TV Patrol at 24 Oras. Hmmm...mukang matatagalan pa ang muli kong pagbabalik sa pukenginang Maynila. Yay?

Para sa mga gustong mag-repack ng relief goods pero malayo sa Sagip Kapamilya at Kapuso Foundation, isang muling pagpapaskil:

Please donate to RED CROSS via SMS: text RED (SPACE) (AMOUNT) to 2899 (Globe) or 4483 (Smart). The service accepts the following amounts: 10, 25, 50 and 100 (pesos). Php 2.50 shall be charged for every SMS sent. TRANSACTION FEE IS NOW WAIVED. Feel free to spread the word.

Mas okey nga naman 'to kesa malaman ang kung anu-anong shit ni Marian Rivera sa 2366.

This program is brought to you by Magnulia Melk Drenk!

Hindi ko alam kung signos na ba 'tong kelangan ko na talagang pakasalan si Sarah Geronimo, by hook or by crook paspasan ang pakikipaghabulan sa mga buwakanginang pangarap ko pero sa puntong ito, mukang isa lang ang tinutumbok ng mga nagdaang pangyayari hindi lamang dito sa Pinas kundi sa kalakhang mundo na rin.

Kung ang killer tsunami sa Samoa, lintek na lindol sa Indonesia, at nanlalapang baha sa Pinas ang gagawing basehan, matutumbok mong nagbabawas na ng mga tao sa mundo ang kung sinumang bathalumang pinaniniwalaan mo. Sa anong kadahilanan? Maraming magdudura ng kung anu-anong shit pero walang tunay na nakakaalam.

Gaya ng mga samu't saring panis na laway na sapilitang ipinagduldulan ng nakararami sa telebisyon, radyo at dyaryo sa kung ano nga ba ang tunay na dahilan ng kalunus-lunos na pagkawala ng daang-daang buhay sa kalakhang Maynila at sa mga karatig-bayan nito, walang kwenta't kainutilang matatawag ang kanilang mga salita.

Walang anumang mabulaklak na paliwanag at rason ang makapagbabalik sa daan-daang buhay na tinangay.

We know what went wrong. We're just too complacent to do the right thing. Or things, for that matter. Hope this recent cataclysm brought us to our senses, becoming more aware of our surroundings or at the very least, shaving off a bit of our complacency.

Sa lahat ng mga kawavelength kong namumugad sa Maynila, nawa'y nasa mabuti kayong kalagayan at hindi inanod ng bagyong Ondoy.

At ano ang natutunan ko sa mga pagkakataong 'to bukod sa pagkakatantong hindi mo talaga maaasahan ang gobyerno?

Life is too short to just shit upon.

It would come off too much as a cliche but it's starkingly true: You have to seize every moment that you spend, do every thing that you like doing the most, cherish every single day with people you're closest to as if that day is your last.

Kaya tuloy ang ligaya. Umutot. Uminom. Magpaka-gago. Mangarap. Tumawa. Tulad ni Aling Dionisia:

(Paki-click na lang para mas manamnam mo ang nag-uumapaw na asim ni Aling Dionisia)

Postscript:

Para sa mga tulad kong nilalang na malayu-layo ngayon sa kuta ng Sagip Kapamilya at Kapuso Foundation para mag-impake ng mga noodles at de-lata, pwede pa rin tayong dumamay sa mga kapatid nating mas higit na nangangailangan ngayon.

Stumbled upon this while reading ABNKK blog NPL Ko?!

Please donate to RED CROSS via SMS: text RED (SPACE) (AMOUNT) to 2899 (Globe) or 4483 (Smart). The service accepts the following amounts: 10, 25, 50 and 100 (pesos). Php 2.50 shall be charged for every SMS sent. TRANSACTION FEE IS NOW WAIVED. Feel free to spread the word.

Mas okey nga naman 'to kesa malaman ang kung anu-anong shit ni Marian Rivera sa 2366.

Why Noynoy? Why Not Noynoy?

N.B. This is a political post bearing a serious tone. If you're the type of person who veers away from social discussions and who dislikes dissecting relevant issues happening in this country that might even have a long-term effect on you, I suggest you close the tab and bloghop to some other shallow what-I-did-today blog. Thanks, whoever you are!

Before he was taken by a sickness whose cure has still eluded even the best of today’s doctors, Raul Roco has always been the kind of guy I’ve said would make a good president. I’ve told people, at the very least those who would bother to listen to my two-cents’-worth, that had he been given a chance to serve this country this man would surely have taken us out of the current rot we’re wallowing in.

For one thing, his public service track record wasn’t tainted with political anomalies unlike the person currently holding the highest seat of power whose governance is reeking of corruption and greed and all sins imaginable. For another, he does not crave power dissimilar yet again to the minute woman ruler who, in a close contention with Nora Aunor for the distinction, possibly possesses the most famous mole in this side of the land.

But in a nation where majority of the citizens look at someone’s popularity on TV rather than his political platform as a gauge for public trust, whose definition of goodwill to man is desperately confined to a noontime show host’s frothing saliva and his marionettes of skimpily clad gyrating dancers, where the apparent concern for change rests only on riding on the fad of wearing a suspicious dog tag whose message is loosely translated to “starting the change from one’s self,” the Raul Roco’s of this country will always find it difficult to become elected into office.

This, in spite of their refined moral fiber and genuine desire to change the decaying landscape of this Third World country.

Back in 2002, when a popular movie star known for his moustache and orange wristband and stupid Eraption text jokes reigned the presidential race but was untimely kicked out of Malacanang for fooling around Juan dela Cruz’ coffers, I cannot not hark a berating “I told you so!” to people who cast their votes based on "masa" appeal.

When the then vice president, whom everyone thought was a manna from high heavens but eventually turned out to be the the descendant of the demigods down under, occupied his remaining term and eventually had the gall to wear thick-facedness to run for re-election, riding on the dirty crest of “Hello Garci” controversy to wrest the win from yet another popular “masa” actor, I cannot help but utter the same outcry.

I told you so.

In a Third World society where people have been blatantly wronged left and right by the very government that's supposed to protect them, it is appalling to realize how Filipinos can be forgetful and how quickly so. Here was the man who committed plunder madly telling all television screens that he is “99.9% sure” of running for president once again as if he didn’t do us any wrong. Here was the woman entrusted with the former’s failed leadership being hounded by ghosts of scandals past, wearing the thickest rhinoceros skin while pretending she didn’t do us any wrong.

And yet here we are, living our own pathetic lives, wrapped in our own Facebook cocoons harvesting delusions of digital farms that do not make us any richer, running away from the issues that matter because majority think there’s nothing in it for us. Worse, because we think they did us no wrong.

But here comes Noynoy Aquino, a reluctant young man basking in a multitude’s urge to run for president, scion of the icon of democracy and a bloodied hero shot at tarmac, pedigreed to start a much-needed change long overdue for this country – if and when he wins the highest post in the land, if and when he decides to run for the highest post in the land.

I know little of this young politician’s track record to exalt him in high heavens but between him and a half-dozen lot who, to borrow the words of my much-revered wordsmith deity, are “atat na atat” to run, I will boldly tell you that I will pick Ninoy and Cory Aquino’s son.

His detractors, particularly this current administration, say he is not ripe for the picking. That he does not deserve to be president. Against whom, if I may ask? Heck, by all means he does if your standard for presidency is the woman sitting in the high throne who seems to be poised to cling to power ‘till kingdom come.

And what about Villar, De Castro, Legarda, Escudero, or even, gasp, Estrada?

At the risk of being bashed by these presidentiables’ supporters, I will say that they do not have the strong moral fiber and build of character Noynoy possesses. I've never heard of him lying nor cheating nor corrupting from the nation's coffers unlike other gods in the echelon of political hierarchy we've pretty much become familiar with. At the very least, the latter is reluctant to run, not because he is afraid to but because he very well knows being a president is no easy task unlike other presidentiables who would gladly smile at cameras, kiss dust-smocked children, plaster poker-face smiles at the slightest glint of a shutterbug in every opportunity they could get.

“In the first place, I had no plans of running for higher office. It’s not an easy job. I ask you, how many can honestly raise their hands and volunteer to take on this great responsibility? You have to think it over before you accept the challenge. You don’t want to fail. Most important, you don’t want to fail those who believe in you.”

How many, indeed, of these presidential contenders, sans the stupid excuse that they do not violate any laws for early campaigning because their TV ads are just “infomercials” and are paid for by their friends not them (Fuck, with all due respect Misters and Miss, I am not stupid!), can plead not guilty for being accused of being “atat na atat” to run? How many of them can honestly duplicate what the Aquino scion has said? And what exactly have they done for this country to give them the right to question Noynoy’s ability to run for presidency?

To quote JK Rowling’s literary character Albus Dumbledore, “Difficult times lie ahead.” You would think next year’s presidential election is just a waste of your voting time but no, I would have to tell you it isn’t. These are desperate times, indeed, and as in the magical realm of the Boy Who Lived that was threatened to be ruled over by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his minion of Death Eaters, we need to rally over one hero to fight the tyranny of corruption and moral degradation spawned by the wicked bitch of Third World hell. It is high time for good to triumph over evil and I'm not even speaking about a celebrated young adult novel's plot.

Backed by his mother’s legacy and his father’s aborted promise to change this country for the better, the Aquino scion offers that little gleam of hope. I agree that Noynoy should come out as his own person and not merely ride on his popularity as the son of Cory and Ninoy in the long run. I will also have to admit I’ve never been impressed by this politician’s credentials to strongly endorse him to anyone I know. But between his untainted character and the thick-faced close-ups of “trapos” wiping our TV screens with their costly jingles and shitty pop ditties, I’d rather see someone who shows reluctance to hold the power than those “atat na atat” to grab it.

Those who are most qualified to hold power are those who least want the power.

I don’t know if it was Plato or some other obscure philosopher long forgotten who breathed these words (or something similar to such) but there’s an entirely pure truth in the thought.

You can always heed my warning or continue to be cozy with a cocoon of your pathetic Facebook farm-harvests, syntax-free texting, and swirls of overrated high-priced mocha fraps. But don’t blame me if after 2010, we've come to elect just another GMA or heck, a GMA puppet ready to don a hocus-pocus right before our eyes, protecting his master's shitty messes while she was still in office.

If we do, then expect me to shove my mocking two-cents'-shit up your ass yet again:

I told you so!

Sa Bus. Pauwi. Trapik. Takte.

nakapagpapahikab
ang malamig na hanging kinulob,
binuo ng labas-masok na pasaherong
iba't iba ang amoy ng hininga
at taranta sa kani-kaniyang paglalakbay,
pagod sa maghapong pakikipagbuno
sa trabahong pumipigil sa gutom at
kawalang-saysay, nananampal ng salapi ngunit
nananakal naman sa pagkayamot, tuluyang pagkahibang.
masarap isalampak ang tumbong
sa kutyong pang-tatluhang nilalang lamang
at pagkatapos ay ibubukaka ang mga hitang
pagal, pagod sa kakalakad sa dako pa roong
wala namang patutunguhan, idadausdos
ang kuluntoy na bayag at titeng maugat
habang nakabukaka nang pakangkang
dahil wala namang katabing kupal.
ako ang hari! pipikit. ihihilig ang ulo.
ibubuhol ang dalawang braso sa sariling dibdib,
idadantay ang tenga sa bintanang mamasa-masa
dulot ng ulang matampuhin. maglalakbay
doon sa di kalayuan, sa harayang hindi abot
ng mga taong alam mong hindi makakatalos sa
kung anumang shit ang naiisip mo dahil wala naman
silang kakayahang umahon, umalsa, mangarap
nang higit pa sa abot ng kanilang balintataw.
at ang taong sunud-sunuran ay makakalaya,
maglalaro, maglalakbay sa lunang walang
hanggan at walang batas -- walang kung
anu-anong shit na maglilimita sa kung ano
ang kaya mo, kung hanggang saan ka lang
kung sino ang diyos at ang aliping walang
sariling pagkakahumindig sa aninong taksil.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
tangina!
lampas na ko.
tae.

SSDD No. 3

Dear gawddamn bastard that is you,

You've always believed that life is full of shit and that you should never allow yourself to wallow in such a self-deprecating stool. You believed that society is full of scumbags and morons, of lifeless drones and pathetic twits, of living people guillotined with following orders and abiding by the rules. You promised yourself never to be like them, to as much as possible live your wretched life as unperfunctorily as you could get it to be. Oh how you gawddamn hated the guts of these breathing and talking androids borne out of nonsensical yadda yadda’s and clusterfuck idiosyncrasies!

Because you said you were different. Because you resolved to be a nonconformist. Because you believed yourself to be an undiscovered Third World mythical creature.

But what has gotten into you now? You have been living like one of them. Ashen. Lifeless. Devoid of any spirit and conviction. How different are you from these worthless stringed marionettes and walking puppets if you have been allowing yourself to be seized with the very certainty of all things to come your way? What good does it make you if you permit life’s fucked up redundancies and shitty yuppie doldrums to wreck your destiny?

Ah, destiny. Big word. So massive I bet you can’t fuckin’ swallow that in your philosophical lifetime. Chosen path. Preordained order. Fate. Discovering your purpose. Finding your gawddamn spot under the mocking, glaring sun. People have called it by monikers and polysyllables, expounding their point like a fucked up crazy Greek philosopher whose wise spurts no one would even care to swallow. But you only believed in one credo – that destiny is what you make it.

It is what you decide to be, not what awaits your inutile flaccid penis. It is making a choice, not leaving the option to your gawddamn wrinkled scrotum. You make it happen. You take it out of its glossy, abstract context and live and breathe it. Until you finally get the hang of it. Until you have affirmed to follow the one, true path that leads to it.

Was it not just recently that you have affirmed the path you will be taking? It was a tough call. You had to weigh the pro’s and con’s, to prune everything that would leave you no value, to trim down what could be trimmed down. But you managed to hurdle the frackin’ dilemma, you see. Would you gawddamn believe that? Man, I never knew you’d pull that off, never knew you were made of one firm and strong fiber like Harry fuckin' Potter, which is obviously ambiguous to your ectomorphic build.

But now, oh fuckin' now, you’re losing your mojo. Whatever happened to the bastardly angst that has been your buffer for all things shitty? You're sick and tired of everything? You're fed up with all the fuckin' responsiblities? Everybody has his share of problems, a clusterfuck of human quandaries poised to eat up on your weakness. You know what to do? The trick is to shrug it off your system and deal with it. Deal with the gawddamn problem like a man. Like a real man. Not some pathetic eyelid-lining, bangs-curtained face with unlimited emo tendencies.

Oh shut up and don’t be a jerk by telling me that life is unfair! Just in case you haven’t noticed, it is and it has always been. So fuck you and your shitty emoish whimpers. Fuck you for not showing me what you’re really made of. Double fuck you for feeling lost. And insane. And being unsure of yourself.

Just in case I haven't made myself clear how much I loathe the way you deal with your pathetic life's mocking sarcasm and scorns: F-U-C-K Y-O-U! Fuckin' hate your guts for succumbing to derisions.

You can never be a Superman with great powers but know that you haven’t lost your marbles. If you did, you would have surely worn your boxers on top of your blue tights. Remember that all is not lost. Your dreams are still there and unless you’re careful, they will become ashes soon to be forgotten. Shrinking. Until you finally bite the dust. Remember that you were never born a defeatist. And you know very well that this is not what you want your life to end up being. For chrissake, you deserve something far better than this!

Life is a wicked bitch but you have to be a tad bitchier to live!

You had balls when you said this is your destiny. Now, don’t be a castrated clusterfuck and prove it!

Your fuckin’ kickass alter-ego,

Me

P.S. If by tomorrow you’re not done yet with this boorish emo episode, I’m going to gawddamn shove that rusting blade up your ass! Oh yes, I’m fuckin’ meaning it!

*Why SSDD No. 3? Because this is SSDD No. 1 and this is SSDD No. 2

Para sa Lalakwe sa Bintana ng Silid Bilang 401 sa Ikaapat na Palapag ng Impyernong Dormitoryo sa España

PAUNAWA: Ang lathalaing ito eh hindi isinulat upang lantarang kutyain ang estado ng ikatlong seks sa lipunan. Don't get me wrong. Marami akong kilalang bading na matalino, kagalang-galang at hindi dapat binabastos. Walang kaso sakin kung bakla ka basta nasa tamang lugar at hindi nakakairitang kupal tulad ng lalakwe sa blog post na 'to. Muli, ang lalakwe, na nagkataong ka-dorm mate ko, sa blog post na 'to eh hindi representasyon ng ikatlong seks sa pananaw ng manunulat. 'Yun lang naman.

Isang bonggang bonggang vaklush na araw sa 'yo!

Sa mga oras na 'to, nagtataka ka siguro kung bakit wala ako sa kuwarto kong pinamamahayan ng putanginang mga surot na walang patumanggang nagpakasasa at patuloy na nagpapakasasa sa ubod ng kinis kong balat, dahilan para mamantal ang buong katawan ko nang ilang araw at di malao'y magkaroon ng buwakanginang pulu-pulutong na bite marks at skin rashes. (Oo, skin rashes at hindi galis ang tawag dun dahil isa akong class S na nilalang at hindi isang PG na kumakalkal ng pekpek basura sa España.) Ramdam ko ang pangungulila mo sa mga panahong wala kang masilayan sa katapat mong kwarto dahil nasa putahan ako't nagpapaubaya sa utos ng mga diyos-diyosang customer na naibaon na ang kukote sa kailaliman ng kanilang mga ari. Maski na wala ako sa silid ko, batid kong nakapagpapabagabag ang pagkawala ng presensiya ko at hindi ka makapag-pokus sa pagrereview dahil wala kang inspirasyong maaaring magbigay sa'yo ng nararapat na konsentrasyon.

Hindi naman dapat talaga kita mapapansin kung hindi mo ginawa ang napansin kong ginawa mo nitong nakaraang araw lang. Kung binigyan ka man ng diyos na sinasamba mo ng pagkakataong makadaupang palad akong sa tingin ko eh isang porsiyento lang ang posibilidad dahil hindi naman tayo magka-wavelength, malalaman mong allergic ako sa tao at wala akong pakialam sa walang kwentang saltik ng dila ng iba. Meron akong pananagutan sa sarili ko lamang at walang wala na sa iba pa, maapektuhan man sila ng putak ng utak ko o hindi. I live my own world, I play by my own rules. And they're not even part of it. Sa kaso mo, wala akong pakialam kung lunukin mo ng ilang beses ang laway mo at tumaas baba ng ilang ulit ang adam's apol mo sa obyus na pagnanasa sa katawan ko tuwing naghuhubad ako.

Ni hindi ko nga alam bat ako pa ang napagdiskitahan mong bosohan eh payat pa nga ako't hindi kalakihan ang katawan. Dapat mong malaman na ang kaha ko eh maysa-ectomorph at nangangailangan ito ng ilang buwang hara kiri workout para magkalaman tulad ng kay Marc Nelson. (Quick digression: Ectomorph din ang body build type ni Marc Nelson; ergo, meron pa 'kong malaking pag-asa para mag-improve ang wankata kong kulang sa nutrients. Huhlolz!) Pero ganun nga siguro kayong mga Adan na nagpapaka-Eba. Makakita lang ng hubad na katotohanan eh magkakandarapa na agad at magpapakita ng motibo para sa maaksyong man-to-man.

Hindi ko alam na sa tuwing nagwe-weights akong nakahubad sa loob ng kwarto ko eh meron palang isang nilalang na pinapanood ang pagbubuhat ko ng ilang kilong dumbbells na parang nagsisine lang ng rated XXX na live show. Tulad ng sabi ko sa'yo, wala akong pakialam sa mga tao sa paligid ko. Kesehodang nakabukas ang bintana kong tapat ng kwarto mo, hindi ako mag-aaksaya ng oras para magmasid sa paligid ko kung meron mang voyeur na trip mamboso sa kapwa niya lalake.

Oo, kapwa lalake dahil hindi ko naman talaga inaakala na isa kang nagbabalatkayong Rustom Padillang ang peyborit songs eh "This Guy's In Love With You Pare" ng Parokya ni Edgar at "Hey Jay" ng paborito kong bandang Eraserheads. Inakala kong lalake ka dahil unang una, wala sa asta mo ang tumili kapag halimbawang may dumapong ipis sa pagmumuka mo o di kaya eh mahinhing luluhod at pagkuwa'y sasapuin ang dibdib habang pinupulot ang nahulog na panyo at ikalawa, puro tayo lalake sa ikaapat na palapag ng pukenginang dormitoryong pinagsisisihan ko ngayon bat dito pa ko napadpad.

Pero nagkamali nga ako. Sa mga pagkakataong nakapwesto ako paharap sa bintana mo habang nagpapapawis ako sa pukenginang kabigat na mga dumbbells at nakikita ko ang ikinikilos mo, magkukunwari kang nakatalikod sa akin at patay-malisyang nagbabasa ng mga Accounting books mo. Pero sa sandaling malingat na 'ko't hindi na ko nakatingin sa'yo, saka ka naman biglang pasimpleng tatagilid at titingin sa katawan kong nanlilimahid na sa pawis at nag-uumapaw na sa pheromones dahil sa dami ng workout reps na nagawa.

Hindi ka pa nakuntento at sa mga pagkakataong nakahiga na 'ko sa kama ko eh bigla kang tatayo't hahawak nang nakatanghod sa grills ng bintana mong parang nakakulong lang sa preso at pagkatapos eh titingin-maglalaway sa hubad kong katawan sa pag-aakalang hindi na kita napapansin sa gilid ng mata ko. Akala mo siguro nagtitikol na ko sa mga oras na 'yun. Hayaan mong liwanagin ko ang maruming pag-iisip mo at linisin ang dumadaloy na berdeng dugong nananalaytay sa mga ugat mo. Para sa iyong kaalaman, ang paghiga ko eh nangangahulugang pagbubuhat ko ng dumbbells mula sa ibabaw ng tiyan paarko lampas ng ulo at muling pabalik para ma-stimulate ang paglaki ng pectoral maskels ko maski konti lang. Kasama pa sa workout ang paghiga ko, anakngtitengmaugat na mamboboso ka.

At ang pinakamasaklap sa lahat? Ang sabay na pagpasok sa banyo mong astang maliligo rin matapos mong malamang tapos na kong mag-weights at kelangan ko nang dumiretso sa banyo ko para maligo at matanggal ang pheromones na hindi malayong umabot ang samyo sa lagusan ng ilong mo, dahilan para maulol ka sakin ng ganiyan. Sa mga pagkakataong iyon, patawarin mo ko kung maisip kong meron kang napakalaking dildo sa banyong hindi ko lubos mapagtanto kung san mo pwedeng isalaksak.

Ayokong ako ang maging dahilan ng pagbagsak mo sa CPA Board Exams sa October dahil para sa iyong kaalaman, isa rin akong reviewee at alam ko ang pressure ng nagrereview na maraming distractions. Sa kaso ko, ang mga istorbo sa maluwalhati sanang pagrerebyu ko eh ang pagpuputang pinagkukunan ko ng pang-araw-araw na panggastos, ang anakngtitengmaugat na pag-ba-blog na'tong wala man lang akong nakukuhang kapakinabangan dahil wala rin namang gustong mag-click ng Google Ads dito, at ang manaka-nakang pang-iistalk ng mga kumag na tulad mo. Sa kaso mo, ako lang ang bukod tanging distraction mo.

Hindi pa huli ang lahat. Alam kong hindi ka pa naaadik sa katawan at itsura ko't alam kong kayang kaya mo pang labanan ang tawag ng makamundong laman. Hangga't maaga pa, iminumungkahi kong tantanan mo na ang pasikretong pagpapantasya sakin dahil wala rin namang maidudulot na mabuti sa'yo yan bukod sa pagsakit lang ng pantog mo.

Goodluck sa pagrerebyu mo at muli, tantanan mo na kong hinayupak na bading ka. Salamas ng marami!

P.S.

Magwe-weights ule ako mamaya. Magpraktis kang maige sa pasikretong pagsulyap mo sakin para naman hindi kita mahuling tumitingin-naglalaway sa pawisan kong katawan. Pinag-iisipan ko rin kung lalabas akong hubo't hubad pagkagaling sa banyo pagkatapos maligo mamaya. Ano sa palagay mo?

At honga pala, lilipat na ko sa ibang tirahan sa susunod na buwan. Hindi malayong magmuka na 'kong dalmatian dahil sa lecheng mga surot na 'yan kung itutuloy ko pa ang pananahan sa dormitoryo from Third World hell. Tapos na ang maliligayang araw mong malibog na gago gaga ka.

Off-topic: Update sa HK-KH Scandal

Tama ang sapantaha ko. Katawa-tawa na naman ang itsura ng mga payaso sa senado.

Bonggang Bonggang Bong Revilla kay Hayden Kho: Ano ang software na ginamit mo sa pag-download ng mga video sa computer mo?

Sagot ni Lio: Hindi ko alam kung saan mo nilagay ang common sense sa kukote mo Ginoong Senador ng mahal kong Pilipinas.

Una, ano bang software ang pinagsasabi mo? Hindi mo ba alam na maaari mong ilipat ang isang file papunta sa computer gamit ang cellphone lang. Ikalawa, Upload ang tawag dun dahil nag-tatransfer ka ng file papunta sa Intarnetz. Download ang tawag kapag nagtransfer ka ng file galing sa Intarnetz.

Ikatlo at ang pinaka-importante sa lahat, ano ang kabutihang idudulot ng walang kwentang tanong mo sa paglutas ng kaso bukod sa media mileage na natamasa mo?

Careless Whisper (And Moans of a Pseudo-Doctor Sex Maniac and an FHM Star-Slut from Third World Hell)

Hulaan ko ang laman ng bawat blog post ngayon sa makamundong Pinoy sangkablogosperyohan -- 'yung seks bidyo ni Doktor-doktorang Baboy at ni FHM Sexy Slut Star.

Kung isa kang palengkerang amoy tsismis ang hininga tulad ng pasaherong lalakeng nakasakayan ko kahapong hindi natigil sa kakabida sa kabilang linya ng cellphone kung paano raw tinira ni ano si ano sa ano niya sa ganitong posisyon at kung sino raw si ano pa na na-escabeche rin ng napakalibog na si ano, malalaman mong usap-usapan na ang kumakalat na sex video scandal ng manyak na doktor kwak-kwak at ang paawa epek na sexy pantasya ng bayang biktima kuno sa nangyaring kabalbalan.

Sa isang Ikatlong Mundong bansang may bayag ang balitang hinihimas-himas ng napakaraming usisero't usisera, mas mabilis pa sa pagkalat ng apoy sa mga barung-barong ng España ang pag-alam sa kung ano ang nagbabagang hot item ng lipunan. Kesyo bulag ka o bangag, tambay sa kanto o inutil na walang silbi sa kumpanyang pinagtatrabahuhan mo, de nunal na babaeng pandak na nakaupo sa trono o artistang naligaw ng pagkakaupo sa senado bilang payaso, lahat 'yan makikisawsaw sa usaping pinakamainit na ibinabalita sa gabi ng mga news anchor na lageng nananakot at may halak sa lalamunan ("Ekskyusmi po!").Ang mga madre eh magreresign sa kumbento dahil gusto rin nilang magkaroon ng sariling sex video kasama ang huwad na manggagamot na mas baboy pa pala sa ordinaryong Boy Bastos.mahilig sa sek

Sang bansa ka makakakita ng senador na imbes na atupagin ang pagpapasa ng makabuluhang batas eh mas uunahin pa ang privilege speech ekek patungkol sa sex video scandal? Kagabi lang eh nasusuya na 'ko sa kakapanood ng kung sinumang hinayupak na mambabatas na idinudulog ang saltik ng dilang panis sa mga reporter patungkol sa headline ngayon. Oo nga naman, malapit na kasi ang eleksyon. Publicity rin 'yun. Kelangan ng media mileage dahil kapag nakita ang pagmumuka mo sa telebisyon, mas malaki ang tsansang maalala ka ng mga botante pagsapit ng eleksyon.

Sa ganitong mga pagkakataon, magsisilabasan din ang mga nagmamalinis na moralista. Laman ng bawat homily ng simbahan ang wag magpakababoy at wag gayahin si ano at si ano. Si Padre Damaso, mangangaral na masusunog ang kaluluwa mo sa impyerno kung hindi ka man mapunta sa purgatoryo pero kung pakaiisipin, may bahid din ng putik ang maputing pagkataong ipinagmamalaki niya. Ang mga women's rights advocates eh meron na namang dahilan para magmartsa sa maalinsangang kalye habang sumisigaw ng paulit-ulit na "Ipaglaban ang karapatan ng mga kababaihan!" maski na ayun si Nicole na ipinaglaban nila't nagpapakasarap lang sa Amerika.

At ano na ang nangyari sa H1N1? Kay Jun Lozada? Ang mga kapal muks na kwestiyonableng TV ads ng mga presidentiables? Ang Con Ass? Si Nicole na sumigaw ng "Rape!" at pagkatapos eh hindi naman daw na-rape? Ang pagpapatalsik sa de nunal na babaeng nasa Malacañang? Ang pagkaka-knockout ni Manny Pakyaw kay hambog na Hatton? Natabunan na siyempre. Mas mainit kasi ang seks bidyo. Mas kaengga-engganyong pag-usapan. Mas nakakalibog panoorin. Welkam to da Pilipins! Walang ganito sa Isteyts.

Ito ang Pinoy pop culture. Hindi ka in kung hindi mo alam ang usap-usapan. Pagtatawanan ka ng lipunan kung wala kang kamuwang-muwang sa nangyayari sa buwakanginang mundong ginagalawan mo. Hindi mo pa napanood ang seks bidyo? Panis ka. Hindi mo kilala kung sino si ano at ano na nag-aanuhang sobrang ano? Wala kang kwenta. Isalaksak mo ang pagkatao mo pabalik sa puke ng ina mo.

Kung meron mang aral na kapupulutan sa pangyayaring ito, iyon eh ang pagkakatanto na walang pinagkaiba ang mga elitista't mayayaman sa ating mga normal na nilalang ng lipunan. Pare-pareho lang tayong mababaho ang utot. Pare-pareho lang tayong dumudumi ng echas sa kasilyas. Pare-parehong mahilig sa sex may tinatagong kabalbalan sa pinakaubod ng pagkatao. Kaya kayong mga nakatira sa Wack Wack at pashopping-shopping lang sa Glorietta, 'wag kayong magmalinis. Mas nakakaduwal ang mga gawi ng karamihan sa inyo.

At ano naman ang maipapayo ko sa babaeng bida sa seks bidyo? Ineng, wag kang maglupasay at umastang ikaw ang biktima sa kontrobersyang ito. Hayaan mong sabihin ko sa'yo na ang sex, hindi pwedeng mangyari kung mag-isa mo lang na ginagawa 'yun. Pagtitikol ang tawag dun. Ginusto mong makipagniig sa isang demonyong kinakain ng amag ang kukote, pwes panindigan mo ngayon ang maaaring kahinatnan ng pagtamasa niyong dalawa sa walang kasing sarap na nirvana. Kunswelo de bobo mo pa nga ngayon na mas sikat ka na kay Marian Rivera at Angel Locsin. Ibig sabihin, kung tama ang hinala kong mas maraming lalake ang magpapantasya sa'yo pagkatapos mapanood ang seks bidyo mo, gagawin kang lead female star ng istasyong kinabibilangan mo.

At sa lalakeng protagonista namang kunwari eh maamong tupa pero dinaig pa pala ang animal pagdating sa kama? Pababaunan kita ng makahulugang salita mula sa isa sa mga sikat na manunulat na si Virginia Woolf: "[The woman] is [the man’s] mirror; by diminishing her in his use of her he becomes twice his size. In the culture, he is a giant, enlarged by his conquest of her, implied or explicit."

In layman's term: Ang liit kasi ng tite mo kaya gumawa ka ng seks bidyo para gawing doble ang laki nito sa paningin ng lipunang iniiputan mo.

Isa Pang Update

Tama ang sapantaha ko. Katawa-tawa na naman ang itsura ng mga payaso sa senado.

Bonggang Bonggang Bong Revilla kay Hayden Kho: Ano ang software na ginamit mo sa pag-download ng mga video sa computer mo?

Sagot ni Lio: Hindi ko alam kung saan mo nilagay ang common sense sa kukote mo Ginoong Senador ng mahal kong Pilipinas.

Una, ano bang software ang pinagsasabi mo? Hindi mo ba alam na maaari mong ilipat ang isang file papunta sa computer gamit ang cellphone lang. Ikalawa, Upload ang tawag dun dahil nag-tatransfer ka ng file papunta sa computer o sa Intarnetz. Download ang tawag kapag nagtransfer ka ng file galing sa computer o sa Intarnetz. Ikatlo at ang pinaka-importante sa lahat, ano ang kabutihang idudulot ng walang kwentang tanong mo sa paglutas ng kaso bukod sa media mileage na natamasa mo?

I Am Allergic to People...No More.

Alam mo ang isa sa mga rason kung ba't ako nagsimulang mag-blog? Bukod kasi sa da best shock absorber ng kaangasan ko't pamumuna sa mga nakakasulasok na kabobohan ng buwakanginang lipunang 'to ang pagtitipa ng kabalahuraan-kabulastugan, marami akong idinurang katarantaduhan na di pala maglalaon eh babawiin ko rin.

Hindi ko alam kung ginagawa mo rin o isa lamang 'tong eksklusibong kaweirduhan ng isang nilalang na nuknukan ng pagka-narsisistiko, pero madalas sa madalas eh nagba-backread ako ng mga entries ko. Masarap balikan ang mga akda mong inumay-nilangaw dahil masyadong malalim at mabibilang lang ang nakaarok kasi raw eh malulunod sa pagkabalinguyngoy ang sinumang bumasa at 'yung mga posts mong pinutakte naman ng iba't ibang saltik ng dila ng kung sinumang talipandas na hindi mo alam kung totoong natuwa sa idyosingkrasiyang itinapon mo sa Intarnetz o nagpapansin lang sa kuta mo para bisitahin mo rin ang buwakanginang blog niya.

Malimit akong tumatawang mag-isa sa putahan dahil sa pagbabalik tanaw sa mga sarili kong kabalahuraan habang hinahayaan ko lang si Binibining Blonde Boplaks sa kabilang linya ng teleponong mangalkal at di malao'y magkanda-buhul-buhol sa sarili niyang leeg ang mga cords na nakasalaksak sa modem niya. Alam mo 'yung feeling na muling bumabalik sa'yo 'yung mga pangyayaring isinatitik mo noon at pagkatapos eh bigla kang mapapatingin sa kawalan na parang tangang inuuod ang kukote? 'Yung tipong sa sobrang sariwa nung alaala eh napipiktyur mo sa utak mo 'yung nangyaring kapalpakan ng diskarte mo sa eksaktong araw na 'yun na parang kahapon lang nangyari? Ganun na ganun ang nagiging itsura ko kapag napapabisita ako sa sariling kong cyber haybol dahil masyado na kong buryong sa pagka-inutil ng customer na tumatawag. Reminiscing daw ang tawag dun.

Pero minsan, sa sobrang pagkalulong mo sa sarili mong tite titik, may mga salita ka na palang binibitawan na lulunukin mo rin sa kalaunan. Dito na pumapasok 'yung sinasabi kong rebuttal sa sarili mong mga palagay at kuru-kuro na isang matibay na rason para sakin bakit kailangang mag-blog ng isang tao. Aminin mo man o hindi, may mga pagkakataong dahil mismo sa medium (blog) kung saan mo nasabi ang inaakala mo nang period, no erase na two cents' worth mo sa isang paksa eh napapalitan ng ibang barya ang binuo mong diwa. Dahil ang laway na ipinahid mo nung isang araw sa makamundong Pinoy sangkablogosperyohan eh hindi nangangahulugang pareho pa rin palang nakadikit bukas makalawa. Magbabago't magbabago 'yan ayon sa sitwasyon sa parehong obserbasyong napakaraming putak-utak ang isang tao para manatili lamang siya sa iisang pananalig habambuhay.

Naalala mo ba ang lagi kong pirming paninindigan dito noong hindi ako magpapakita sa kahit na sinong blogger dahil allergic ako sa tao? Matagal na panahon ko ring pinanindigan 'yun dahil hindi talaga ko sociable na tao sa teleserye ng totoong buhay at kuntento na 'kong nagmamasid lang sa sidelines. Ilang buwan ko ring itinago ang identidad ko at kung masugid kang manlalakbay na laging naliligaw ng landas dito, mapapansin mong puro na lang itim na bulutong tubig ang tigidig na nakapalibot sa pagmumuka ko't talikogenic shot lang ang ibinalandra ko sa aking About the Blogger ekek.

Hindi dahil sa panget ako at kasing asim ng kilikiling hitik sa mamasa-masang libag ng isang Moymoy Palaboy sa España ang pagmumuka ko. Gusto ko lang talagang magsulat nang walang nakakakilala sakin para walang manghahablot sa boxer brip ko sakali mang dumaan ako't nakita mo ko sa Ayala pressure sa patuloy na pagtipa ng SSDD kronikels sa makamundong Pinoy sangkablogosperyohan.

Pero sa puntong ito, minsan sa isang bughaw na buwan, kelangang baliin ang panatang maging anti-social at poreber introvert ni Lio Loco. Dahil hinihingi ng pagkakataon. Kung ako lang talaga ang papipiliin, pananatilihin ko pa rin ang misteryosong awra ng pagka-class S na nilalang ko sa buong bloggywood. Ngunit yaman din lang na kelangan ko na talagang magpakita sa teleserye ng totoong buhay, at hinuha ko eh masusundan pa 'to ng napakaraming blogger meetups, makinig ang lahat ng gustong makipag-bembangan makipagkita kay Lio Loco sa labas ng patay na kuwadradong kompyuter dahil pinapaabiso ko na ang Sampung Utos ni Lio Loco sa Eyeball Ekek na 'yan:

Una, tahimik akong tao sa teleserye ng totoong buhay. Hindi kita papansinin kung hindi ikaw ang unang mamamansin sakin. Kung gusto mong makuha ang atensyon ko, bigyan mo ko ng bonggang bonggang ice breaker at magcartwheel kang naka-panty lang at nang hindi ako maumay agad sa sapilitang pakikipagkita natin. Jokeness. Usapang matino, may sense, at hindi mababaw, okey na sakin.

Ikalawa, ang blogger meetup ay kelangang mangyari sa gabi dahil gusto kong naka-jacket akong makikipagkita sa'yo. Payat ako at ang ekstrang kasuotang 'yan eh magkukubli sa ectomorph kong pisikal na kaanyuan at pandagdag volume na rin. Ang dilim ng gabi eh tumutulong din para mas lalo mo pang mapansin ang di naman masyadong kalalimang biloy ko at ang wan op a kayn cleft chin na siyang nagpapatingkad pa lalo sa kapogian ko.

Ikatlo, wala akong pakialam kung san mo 'ko gustong kaladkarin. Game ako maski saan pero mas dagdag ganda points sa'yo kung sa So clean, so good di mataong lugar mo 'ko dadalhin. Ayoko ng masyadong maingay. At mas astig kung may kasalo tayong beer.

Ikaapat, hindi dapat sineseryoso ang mga katagang naka-strikethrough sa naunang talata. Pero kung gusto mong seryosohin, wala lang 'yun sakin. Sino ba naman ako para pigilin ang ikaliligaya mo di ba?

Ikalima, maliban na lang kung kamuka mo ang babaeng 'to o ito o ito, pakaisipin mong ang blogger eyeball na magaganap eh walang halong malisya at obligasyon ko lang bilang isa sa mga pasikat na porn star balahurang blogger ng makamundong Pinoy sangkablogosperyohan.

Ikaanim, wag mong babanggitin ang pukenginang Twilight at kung gano mong sinasamba ang tumbong ni John Lloyd Mongoloid kung ayaw mong umuwi ako nang di oras.

Ikapito, alam kong beybi peys ako pero wag kang magre-react na muka akong totoy na parang walang kamuwang-muwang sa seks mundo at baka matikman mo ang hindi mo pa natitikman. Ayokong ikinakahon ako sa mga stereotypical na pamamaraan.

Ikawalo, maski na ganito ang kaha ko eh lage akong nag-eekstra rice kapag umoorder ako sa restawran. Masanay ka na.

Ikasiyam, kung manonood tayo ng sine, ayoko ng baduy na Tagalog movies na sa sobrang walang kwenta ng plot eh hindi ka na mag-iisip. Trip ko ang mga horror, sci-fi, at suspense thriller. At dahil malamig sa loob ng sinehan, patay-malisya na lang ako kung halimbawang tsansingan mo ko sa maseselang bahagi ng aking murang katawan.

Ikasampu, mas kyut ako sa teleserye ng totoong buhay kesa sa piktyur na 'to. Partida pa 'yan. Bangag pa ko't kulang sa tulog ang puta sa lagay na 'yan.


Uhm...'yan lang naman. At honga pala, allergic pa rin ako sa tao.