It is not true that I am an extremely pessimist person. Not true at all. Truth is I have a sunny disposition. I collect good news from tabloids. Here are some of the good news I have gathered:
1. Korean, nabugbog.
2. Dalawang Korean, nagsuntukan.
3. Korean, nagbigti.
4. Isang barkong puro Korean, lumubog.
5. Korean, lasing, nahulog sa imburnal.
6. Isang bus na Korean, nahulog sa bangin.
7. FG, nagtae.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
radio
When I was younger, when you want to have an easy-listening experience, you could turn your radio to FM frequency, and choose from those decent English-speaking dj’s. Now, almost all dj’s in the FM stations are Tagalog-speaking s.o.b.’s. And worse, they talk like gays, using the words “bongga” or “grabe”, every fuckin’ minute. And their names are funny, like “Nicole Yala” or “Kristin Dera”, or “Krischu Pot”, and other funny names they invented to amuse us.
The other day, while I was in the bus on my way to work, the driver was listening to this bitch, Nicole-yagbols-or-something. And this whore, who calls herself a dj, was telling a story about a girl who is “mahinhin” and it turned out that the girl is “mahinhindutin”, according to her. The bitch kept on repeating the word “mahinhindutin” in the national radio, during the early hours of the day, followed by her annoying laughter. She must have said the word seven (7) or ten (10) times, for all the children and minors to hear. The KBP or the NTC, or the government agency which monitors these assholes, must be sleeping on their job. This bitch should be shot down. Funny thing is-- after a while she admitted that she does not understand the word “mahinhindutin”. That it sounds ok, that’s why she kept on repeating the same. Eh, talaga palang HINDOT!
I requested the driver to change the station and search for other decent dj’s, and his options were: Rostum Bungero, Faizal Salero, Marichu Pablo, and Rajin Dutero. Nice. Very nice.
The other day, while I was in the bus on my way to work, the driver was listening to this bitch, Nicole-yagbols-or-something. And this whore, who calls herself a dj, was telling a story about a girl who is “mahinhin” and it turned out that the girl is “mahinhindutin”, according to her. The bitch kept on repeating the word “mahinhindutin” in the national radio, during the early hours of the day, followed by her annoying laughter. She must have said the word seven (7) or ten (10) times, for all the children and minors to hear. The KBP or the NTC, or the government agency which monitors these assholes, must be sleeping on their job. This bitch should be shot down. Funny thing is-- after a while she admitted that she does not understand the word “mahinhindutin”. That it sounds ok, that’s why she kept on repeating the same. Eh, talaga palang HINDOT!
I requested the driver to change the station and search for other decent dj’s, and his options were: Rostum Bungero, Faizal Salero, Marichu Pablo, and Rajin Dutero. Nice. Very nice.
Monday, May 11, 2009
card
Last Friday, I received a birthday card from my sister who resides in San Francisco, USA. I’m sure it will be the only birthday card I would receive this year, hehehehe (in the style and tradition of Paulie Gualtieri).. She must have mailed the card early, my birthday this year will be this coming Wednesday. My sister belongs to those people who do not abandon the snail mail scheme. My mother and her still exchanging letters through snail mail. I forgot the last time I used the snail mail. E-mail and text messages are more efficient these days.
I was disappointed when I opened the card, there was no $100 in it, hehehehehe.. But I was happy that my sister remembered my birthday. She haven’t forgotten to enclose her picture and that of her latest husband. Maybe, she did it so that I would remember her face. She and her daughter are living there in San Francisco for more than 15 years now.
Most likely, I would celebrate my birthday drinking beer, after working hours. Just like last year, I would be there in my favorite corner in Jimmy’s bar, and let those who remember come and have a bottle or two, and share countless war stories, cosa nostra or otherwise. Capisce?
I was disappointed when I opened the card, there was no $100 in it, hehehehehe.. But I was happy that my sister remembered my birthday. She haven’t forgotten to enclose her picture and that of her latest husband. Maybe, she did it so that I would remember her face. She and her daughter are living there in San Francisco for more than 15 years now.
Most likely, I would celebrate my birthday drinking beer, after working hours. Just like last year, I would be there in my favorite corner in Jimmy’s bar, and let those who remember come and have a bottle or two, and share countless war stories, cosa nostra or otherwise. Capisce?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
movies
I saw “The Queen” last night. As usual in DVD. I got interested on it when I read De Quiros mentioned the same in his column. I love De Quiros’ style of writing.
The 90-minute movie was centered on the effect of Princess Di’s death on the royal family. In fact, the last 70 minutes of it was all about Diana’s death. It appeared that the British people got angry with the Queen when the royal family seemed ignoring the death of the princess. At first, the Queen did not want to have a public funeral for the princess, she kept insisting that Diana is no longer part of the royal family.
It is also shown in the movie how Tony Blair properly handled the delicate event. Later, the Queen was convinced, by Blair and the public, that Princess Di should be given the proper attention fit for a member of royal family.
I also saw “There will be blood”. My friend Atty. Jorge is right, Lewis is very entertaining to watch. He is another Pacino in that movie.
The 90-minute movie was centered on the effect of Princess Di’s death on the royal family. In fact, the last 70 minutes of it was all about Diana’s death. It appeared that the British people got angry with the Queen when the royal family seemed ignoring the death of the princess. At first, the Queen did not want to have a public funeral for the princess, she kept insisting that Diana is no longer part of the royal family.
It is also shown in the movie how Tony Blair properly handled the delicate event. Later, the Queen was convinced, by Blair and the public, that Princess Di should be given the proper attention fit for a member of royal family.
I also saw “There will be blood”. My friend Atty. Jorge is right, Lewis is very entertaining to watch. He is another Pacino in that movie.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
rain in May
Heavy rains. In the first week of May. Can you believe that?
I woke up this morning and when I looked at my blue-lighted digital alarm clock, it was already 10:30 am. I was late, again, for work. The damn cellphone alarm did not work. Or I never heard it when it went off. I must be too drunk to wake up.
My phone told me that I was wanted in the office by the Boss. He wanted me to draft a simple business letter, which I did the minute I sat in my PC.
We had 3 liters of Red Horse beer last night. Celebrating the rains in the first seven days of May. Someone’s prayers must be heard by the raingods. Ahh.. I love the fuckin’ rain. Or I love to fuck when it rains outside. That’s more like it.
Red Horse because it is more manly. And because it is the only drink I can afford to buy these days. Too broke to buy San Mig Light or Cerveza Negra. Too broke to visit Pareng Jimmy in his bar.
But, truth is—we started to drink Chivas Regal with Coke last night. My kumareng E.A. gave it to me last Monday morning, courtesy of her kind husband who works in the Iraq war zone. I have only 2 shots of that shit, and my delicate-smooth-Camay face turned red and I felt that my whole body was burning. Damn hot. Having taken 2 shots only and I was dead drunk. So, I thought we need to wash it down with poor man’s beer. Luckily, the nearest store owned by a stinky old Vietnamese woman was still open. The half-full bottle of Chivas was placed in the open shelf. In all likelihood, Joan’s pa would gulp the whole damn thing the next day. Who cares?
That’s the story of the rain. In May. Time to light this Dunhill Frost outside. Hand me the damn lighter, cabron.
I woke up this morning and when I looked at my blue-lighted digital alarm clock, it was already 10:30 am. I was late, again, for work. The damn cellphone alarm did not work. Or I never heard it when it went off. I must be too drunk to wake up.
My phone told me that I was wanted in the office by the Boss. He wanted me to draft a simple business letter, which I did the minute I sat in my PC.
We had 3 liters of Red Horse beer last night. Celebrating the rains in the first seven days of May. Someone’s prayers must be heard by the raingods. Ahh.. I love the fuckin’ rain. Or I love to fuck when it rains outside. That’s more like it.
Red Horse because it is more manly. And because it is the only drink I can afford to buy these days. Too broke to buy San Mig Light or Cerveza Negra. Too broke to visit Pareng Jimmy in his bar.
But, truth is—we started to drink Chivas Regal with Coke last night. My kumareng E.A. gave it to me last Monday morning, courtesy of her kind husband who works in the Iraq war zone. I have only 2 shots of that shit, and my delicate-smooth-Camay face turned red and I felt that my whole body was burning. Damn hot. Having taken 2 shots only and I was dead drunk. So, I thought we need to wash it down with poor man’s beer. Luckily, the nearest store owned by a stinky old Vietnamese woman was still open. The half-full bottle of Chivas was placed in the open shelf. In all likelihood, Joan’s pa would gulp the whole damn thing the next day. Who cares?
That’s the story of the rain. In May. Time to light this Dunhill Frost outside. Hand me the damn lighter, cabron.
Monday, April 27, 2009
more on Eddie the pimp..
“There’s a perverse satisfaction in screwing another man’s wife.” That’s the standard answer given by my friend Eddie the pimp, when we asked him about his hobby of dating married women.
I don’t know if the said “perverse satisfaction” commensurates the risks that he is taking by dating these women. What are the risks? You might end up with your balls in your mouth if you do not stop chasing these sex-starved women. Your wife or gf might find out, and she would leave you for good, and declare, to your in-laws, relatives, neighbors and friends, that you are a sex maniac. She might begin a blog about you being an impotent sex maniac.
But when you see the naughty grin in Eddie’s face, you would conclude it’s worth the risk. Eddie is one happy son of a bitch after his date with these women.
Eddie is dating two married women. The husbands of these women are both seaman. They are financially capable of financing the horizontal endeavor. So Eddie’s problem is—how to divide his time. Time with his wife and children, business, married women, and our drinking sprees.
I promise Eddie that I would visit him in prison, or in the hospital or in funeral parlor, when the need for the same arises. Meanwhile, he should enjoy every damn minute of it. Seize the day.
Me? I am semi-retired. I no longer chase married women. My wild days are over. As Carlito puts it: I am rehabilitated. I now chase kasambahay… hahahaha…
I don’t know if the said “perverse satisfaction” commensurates the risks that he is taking by dating these women. What are the risks? You might end up with your balls in your mouth if you do not stop chasing these sex-starved women. Your wife or gf might find out, and she would leave you for good, and declare, to your in-laws, relatives, neighbors and friends, that you are a sex maniac. She might begin a blog about you being an impotent sex maniac.
But when you see the naughty grin in Eddie’s face, you would conclude it’s worth the risk. Eddie is one happy son of a bitch after his date with these women.
Eddie is dating two married women. The husbands of these women are both seaman. They are financially capable of financing the horizontal endeavor. So Eddie’s problem is—how to divide his time. Time with his wife and children, business, married women, and our drinking sprees.
I promise Eddie that I would visit him in prison, or in the hospital or in funeral parlor, when the need for the same arises. Meanwhile, he should enjoy every damn minute of it. Seize the day.
Me? I am semi-retired. I no longer chase married women. My wild days are over. As Carlito puts it: I am rehabilitated. I now chase kasambahay… hahahaha…
Sunday, April 12, 2009
cojones
No one should be praised for being good, if he lacks the strength to be bad.
It bothers me that the system does not work. But it bothers me more that the people who have the duty to make the system works do not care. It is not really a simple case of apathy or indifference but more of cowardice. They do not want to involve themselves. They do not want to dirty their hands. The mere thought of it soils their pants. Simply put, they do not have the balls.
It is understandable that the system is not perfect because humans run the system. Humans are prone to commit mistakes. But it really bothers me that there are people who do not want the system to work, because they do not have the balls to make it works. Lack of cojones is the real issue.
Take the case of JeTi. It’s been more than seven (7) months since he was killed. Gunned down as if he’s nothing. They killed him as if he’s nothing, as if he does not matter. And until now, the horrible crime remains unsolved. No one has a clue as to who did the killing. Not even the Police. Especially the Police. To serve and protect? My ass! They are not doing any thing to solve the damn case. Why would they? If those people who should be responsible to pursue these things do not move, why should them? Fuck the case. But it does bother me. I get sleepless nights thinking of this shit.
No one should be praised for being good, if he lacks the strength to be bad. In which case, it is nothing but mere weakness. It is nothing but a case of having no option. A man without balls is not worthy of any praise, in whatever size, shape or form.
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