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.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Raffy the forehead
Last Monday morning while I was swimming in the figurative sea of legal documents. Raffy the forehead showed up and surprised me and my co-workers. He is called “the forehead” because his forehead is large as the Araneta Coliseum. He is almost bald, although he is only in early 30’s. Raffy was a former messenger of the firm. He worked in a factory in Dubai for 2 years, and came back alive, miraculously.
Let me give you a short background about Raffy: Raffy was a Criminology student. He dreamed of becoming a member of PNP. He keeps an unlicensed firearm in his things. And he knows a lot about martial arts shit. He is a black belter in Combat Aikido. He single-handedly fought a stand fan thrown to him by his ugly wife. He was not able to finish the course because he impregnated his gf and married the ugly broad. I was surprised when I learned of his intention to marry. He was a real ladies’ man. Girlfriends, left and right, top and bottom. He was your regular Casanova. He is good-looking, if you think Tintoy is good-looking.
Raffy is ok, he is my friend. Not a friend of ours, though. So, I invited him for a drinking session in Jimmy’s place, right at the heart of Tinapa City. We missed the guy. I also phoned Eddie the pimp. Eddie and Raffy are friends too. Eddie is a godfather to Raffy’s firstborn. When Eddie and Raffy are in the same room, the room becomes brighter. Raffy’s forehead is like 100-watts bulb, while Eddie’s head is like mercury. The funeral parlor owners are delighted to see these guys together, when they are around there is no need to turn on the lights. Too bad, Eddie could not go with us, he is suffering from diarrhea, The god of promdi wiseguys must be punishing Eddie. Too much pimping. Too much visits in the horizontal refreshments.
So, Raffy and my officemates went to Jimmy’s place. We ordered and drank Red Horse Stallion Beer. Raffy dominated the night with his war stories about the fucking middle east. The stupid Indians, Lebanese, and those guys who wear rugs in their empty heads. And the first and the last time he fucked a Russian prosti. Too expensive, according to him. Tony Soprano should be ashamed of this Raffy. And I envied these two, they have tasted Russian vodka, while I satisfy myself with local brew. Ain’t fair.
I went home drank but happy to see and talk to Raffy. I just did not know if Raffy was allowed by his wife to enter their abode. The ugly wife is cruel too. Perhaps, Raffy slept with the plants that evening.
What a way to spend Monday night!! What a kick in the balls!
Let me give you a short background about Raffy: Raffy was a Criminology student. He dreamed of becoming a member of PNP. He keeps an unlicensed firearm in his things. And he knows a lot about martial arts shit. He is a black belter in Combat Aikido. He single-handedly fought a stand fan thrown to him by his ugly wife. He was not able to finish the course because he impregnated his gf and married the ugly broad. I was surprised when I learned of his intention to marry. He was a real ladies’ man. Girlfriends, left and right, top and bottom. He was your regular Casanova. He is good-looking, if you think Tintoy is good-looking.
Raffy is ok, he is my friend. Not a friend of ours, though. So, I invited him for a drinking session in Jimmy’s place, right at the heart of Tinapa City. We missed the guy. I also phoned Eddie the pimp. Eddie and Raffy are friends too. Eddie is a godfather to Raffy’s firstborn. When Eddie and Raffy are in the same room, the room becomes brighter. Raffy’s forehead is like 100-watts bulb, while Eddie’s head is like mercury. The funeral parlor owners are delighted to see these guys together, when they are around there is no need to turn on the lights. Too bad, Eddie could not go with us, he is suffering from diarrhea, The god of promdi wiseguys must be punishing Eddie. Too much pimping. Too much visits in the horizontal refreshments.
So, Raffy and my officemates went to Jimmy’s place. We ordered and drank Red Horse Stallion Beer. Raffy dominated the night with his war stories about the fucking middle east. The stupid Indians, Lebanese, and those guys who wear rugs in their empty heads. And the first and the last time he fucked a Russian prosti. Too expensive, according to him. Tony Soprano should be ashamed of this Raffy. And I envied these two, they have tasted Russian vodka, while I satisfy myself with local brew. Ain’t fair.
I went home drank but happy to see and talk to Raffy. I just did not know if Raffy was allowed by his wife to enter their abode. The ugly wife is cruel too. Perhaps, Raffy slept with the plants that evening.
What a way to spend Monday night!! What a kick in the balls!
Monday, February 23, 2009
god is a mean motherfucker
I do not believe that there is a caring and merciful god who is watching over our daily activities. Nope, to me, that is plain bullshit. God is a concept taught to us by fearful and ignorant adults. These adults were busting our balls big time. Selling us fuckin’ fairy tales.
There is no god. And assuming arguendo that god exists, I think he needs to answer for many unspeakable human sufferings and tragedies which he allowed to happen. If there is god, he is a mean sadistic motherfucker.
No, I will not dwell on what happened during Vietnam War. Let us not speak about the Holocaust, the systematic destruction of Jews by the Nazi before and during WWII.
And let’s not mention the countless father who raped their daughters. Or the motherless fucks who committed atrocity to the children. No, let’s not dwell on that.
Let’s keep it plain and simple. Remember JeTi? He was our messenger. Shot dead at close range with a caliber 45. At the age of 32, he is dead. And he left 4 minor kids, the eldest is only 8 years old, and his wife was pregnant when JeTi died. The wife is too dumb to work. She didn’t even complete her elementary education. She can’t go back to and rely on her family. Her parents are shabu-addicts living under the stinky bridge of Quiapo. I heard that the mother is trying to arrange for adoption of her 5 kids. The eldest has stopped going to school, for obvious reason. Well-meaning relatives are trying to help them but they are poor too. The rich relatives are trying to ignore them, they act as if they do not know of any problem. May they all rot in hell. The sooner, the better.
If there is a merciful and just god, would he or she allow that? What kind of a god that allows this horrible thing to happen? Let him go down here, and I will whip her sorry stinking ass.
“God sees the truth but waits”, an author wrote. Well, fuck you, tell that to the suffering kids.
I don’t like “Chicken Soup for the Soul”. I prefer the book written by Tony Soprano, “Tomato Sauce for the Ass”. Nice read.
Let me end this with my favorite prayer: “And though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley...”
There is no god. And assuming arguendo that god exists, I think he needs to answer for many unspeakable human sufferings and tragedies which he allowed to happen. If there is god, he is a mean sadistic motherfucker.
No, I will not dwell on what happened during Vietnam War. Let us not speak about the Holocaust, the systematic destruction of Jews by the Nazi before and during WWII.
And let’s not mention the countless father who raped their daughters. Or the motherless fucks who committed atrocity to the children. No, let’s not dwell on that.
Let’s keep it plain and simple. Remember JeTi? He was our messenger. Shot dead at close range with a caliber 45. At the age of 32, he is dead. And he left 4 minor kids, the eldest is only 8 years old, and his wife was pregnant when JeTi died. The wife is too dumb to work. She didn’t even complete her elementary education. She can’t go back to and rely on her family. Her parents are shabu-addicts living under the stinky bridge of Quiapo. I heard that the mother is trying to arrange for adoption of her 5 kids. The eldest has stopped going to school, for obvious reason. Well-meaning relatives are trying to help them but they are poor too. The rich relatives are trying to ignore them, they act as if they do not know of any problem. May they all rot in hell. The sooner, the better.
If there is a merciful and just god, would he or she allow that? What kind of a god that allows this horrible thing to happen? Let him go down here, and I will whip her sorry stinking ass.
“God sees the truth but waits”, an author wrote. Well, fuck you, tell that to the suffering kids.
I don’t like “Chicken Soup for the Soul”. I prefer the book written by Tony Soprano, “Tomato Sauce for the Ass”. Nice read.
Let me end this with my favorite prayer: “And though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley...”
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
sample
Since I have no blog to post here, and I have not yet drafted any, and I wanted to try posting in this blogger/blogspot site, I will just post here the beatiful poem of the enigmatic poet Dylan Thomas, "And death shall have no dominion". Read on:
And Death Shall Have No Dominion
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
Dylan Thomas
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