How to Be Rude: Burgers

**Let's go on ahead and exercise that inner jerk now shall we?

Order a VERY big meal, like a quarter pounder meal with twister fries, upsized, some chicken nuggets and a strawberry float. Have it for dine in, and then look for a very large person preferably eating alone. An obese woman is ideal; men just don't care about their fat asses or screaming waistlines as much as women do. Also, what she's eating counts: if she's indulging herself on a meal that's just as killer as what you're having, then forget it. Look for a large person who's eating a small meal, maybe a sprite and some fries no ketchup. Sit next to her, preferably opposite her so you can watch her... squirm. I suspect this to be the natural reaction when you're killing yourself on a diet plan while there are people who don't have no need for such narcissistic bullshit however healthy.

It's not my fault that I have a metabolism that creates sonic booms - so fast it breaks the sound barrier. It's a gift. It's not a super power meant to save the cheerleader, and then the world in consequence. Its not stopping time or walking through walls, and you can't imagine how such a blessing can be put to good use, so you might as well try to have fun with it. Which is what I'm doing. Now, it's important that this obese lady you're sharing a seat with knows what you are eating. Discretely look out for some semblance of acknowledgment, like an occasional glance from her at what's on your table. Feng shui counts, so make sure that your meal's well spread out to attract attention. Red sells, so you might want to have your nuggets, fries, and the strawberry float closest to her. Wait for her to steal a glance or two, and then go for the kill.

Eating, on its own, doesn't heighten the effect we're after. You will need to throw in as much theatrics as you can manage as you are indulging yourself in your heart attack lunch. Pick up your quarterpounder in one hand, hold it parallel to your face, and then slowly unwrap this meaty killer burger. Enjoy a few bites, love it!, before paying attention to your fries or nuggets, whichever you prefer. But the trick here is the ketchup. Take your half eaten quarterpounder down as you reach for a packet of ketchup. You know where to put the burger down (as visible as possible). And then, with the production value of a slow motion scene, proceed to bite that packet open, waay open such that it takes you about a few seconds to help yourself. However you garnish your burger is totally up to you, but we're after that great big pause.

Now, no matter what happens, try not to look at the subject of your torture. That totally defeats the discretion we're after. And that's just outwardly rude to begin with.

Pictures from here and here.

Horror Movie Review #34: Cloverfield

CLOVERFIELD
Directed By: Matt Reeves
Release Date: 30 January 2008 (Philippines)
Running Time: 85 minutes
Language: English
Horror Type: Really big alien monsters.
Sex? - There was this one time, but it all drama. Pass.
Gore? - Lacerations at best. Pass.

Must watch if you're not easily nauseous. Not because of the gratuitous gore or reckless dismemberment on account of this film's basically gay on those departments. Grab a bottle of strong ammonia because Cloverfield is the Blair Witch Project times ten. It's all that movement that gets to you. You probably have watched the Blair Witch Project, and you probably remember the vertigo caused by all that running and panicked screaming and overacting and what-have-you.

It doesn't have witches though, that would have been overkill, but it does have wonderfully rendered ginormous alien freakbeasts. We're out of the woods this time around; Manhattan's larger, and tempts varying degrees of vertigo. Okay, so the people are hot, and there might be some semblance of a story behind all that macho posturing, but its still shot using some gimmick that has seen better days. It maybe moderately engaging for the first thirty minutes, but you probably have an idea what happens after those monsters started to appear out of nowhere. The intensity simmers, and you might be feeling drowsy at that point.

You're rooting for the alien freakbeasts in the end. Just eat these people already.

Picture from Universal Causality

Not a Review: Paranormal Activity

**It's more of an almost-there hunchback of a quasi-review.

So I went ahead and watched this movie under the impression that it's profitable. If it's profitable, then it must be good. But all the hype tells me its far better than good; it's so good it outsold the SAW series. Now that's big. Last time I checked, there was an impressive $20 million difference between total profit generated, and that's super big for some film that was shot with a $11000 budget.

It's profitable and it's big. So I went ahead and experienced Paranormal Activity to verify, for myself, if its really that good. Well, ninety minutes into this movie verified the PROFITABLE and the BIG parts; I'm still waiting for the GOOD part, but then final credits started rolling.

And that's basically the long and short of this moderately engaging haunting. So if you're watching this movie on a date, then at least make sure you're paying. At least there's some ACTION to look forward to at the end of the day, if you know what I mean.

Wink.

Picture from Chud.com

You want a Pair of Open-toe Manolos; You Need a Pedicure

**My decision making process largely revolves around the question: Is it a want or a need? Growing up, I had the professional foresight of my mom and her sisters to reinforce that principle. Trouble is, I grew up jaded and largely distracted, so my wants and needs are borderline independent of each other.



1. You want to be popular; you need a good cosmetic surgeon, or very big tits.

2. You want a tattoo; you need a personality.

3. You want Globe Tattoo for you wireless internet; you need to consider your options. Jessica Zafra calls it a WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP.

4. You want your own life; you need to move out of your parents' house.

5. You want to be independent; you need to get a haircut, get your act together, and get a job.

6. You want a boyfriend; you need two, maybe three, of the following - dashing good looks, lots of money, a likeable personality, unbelievable good luck.

7. You want to live long; you need to quit smoking.

8. You want to be cool; you need a punch in the face.

9. You want surgically assigned dimples; you need proper dental hygiene.

10. You want to be feared; you need an sexually transmitted disease. Or a bad case of hair lice.

11. You want to be respected; you need to stop whoring.

12. You want a happening social life; you need to stop being so shallow. You need real people in your social circle.

13. You want a drink; you need a drink. No doubt about it, a man's got the constitutional right to get smashed, most especially if he's a taxpayer. Or WAS a taxpayer. I'll even hand you that shot glass.

14. You want to be very good in bed; you need a prayer.

15. You want to win a talent search and become an overnight celebrity; you need electroconvulsive therapy.

16. You want to stop kissing asses in your dead end job at the office; you need to hand in that resignation letter.

17. You want to finally get laid for the first time; you need to stop being such a nerd and turn that Nintendo off.

18. You want to be a model; you need to be tall, size zero, and you need a striking cuteness that warrants a second look. Yes, all three. Notice how the trying-hard catwalk isn't a pre-requisite? Because they pay professional ramp trainers to teach tall, size zero, and strikingly cute ladies how to walk the walk.

19. You want your Pikachu to evolve into a Raichu; you need to give it a Thunderstone. He hee, can't help the Pokemon talk, sorry.

20. You want to kill yourself and get it all over with; you need a good bellyaching laugh.

21. YOU WANT IT ALL! You need a near-death experience.

Picture from Alley Cat Scratch Costume.

What is Erotic Asphxiation?

**So I learned me a fun, exciting phrase today. Kids, we now define: Erotic Asphyxiation.

Erotic asphyxiation refers to intentionally cutting off oxygen to the brain for sexual arousal. It is also called asphyxiophilia, autoerotic asphyxia, or breath control play. Colloquially, a person engaging in the activity is sometimes called a gasper.

You can call in sick, and there's your excuse! Well, it's either erotic asphyxiation or amnesia. On the off chance that your bosses wanted you to be more specific, then just tell them that there's something stuck in your throat. And you're really not in the position to be talking about it now because you feel like fainting in a few more minutes. Say it with attitude as much as possible because this kind of shit really wouldn't look good on paper, and you don't need them asking for a medical certificate of sorts.

I know the phrase itself leaves nothing to the imagination, or maybe a whole mouthful, depending on how kinky you claim to be. But then, inquiring minds want to know: If you were to choke on something during foreplay, then is that going to be a fine example of Erotic Asphyxiation? Aside from the calling in sick bit, I have yet to consider the practical applications of such an inquiry, but I'm sure it'll make for a good ice breaker.

See, you can choke on a lot of things during foreplay.

Picture from Marguerite on Deviant Art

I Don't Do Trick or Treat

**Not enough Halloween fun to go around that we have to borrow some other country's crap?

None of the people I knew growing up had to do trick or treat. We were so decidedly quasi-ghetto that my Halloweens were trips to the cemetery where we would make balls out of candle wax drippings. I know its primitive, and it sure as hell hurt, but it kept us entertained until it hurt some more. Then we'd whine our grown ups to take us home. We'd whine with wonderful industry if we happened to be in the cemetery on a Saturday afternoon because we can't afford to miss Noli de Castro (our current National Vice President) hosting the all too creepy Magandang Gabi Bayan Halloween special.

Them 80's were a fucking good time to do Halloween. Halloween's mostly a laid back affair where we'd get high on mostly primitive shit that in no remote way resembled what other countries did on that same day. We're mostly cool with our wax balls and our scary TV shows. But we were largely original with our celebration, basic but original, and we kept to our own like what our parents did. Fast forward to twenty years later, and the whole celebration started getting different. Its not the transgendered kind of different, nor is it the receding hairline kind of different. It's more of the irrelevant kind of different because our kids are doing Trick or Treat now.

Now let me give you the reassuring claim that when I'm wrong, then I'm most definitely certainly wrong, and I think Filipino kids dressing up to do trick or treat is so wrong its borderline stupid. I admit I'm all in for the aesthetics. Cute is cute, no contest, but its the whole idea that bugs me. What kind of rice are we eating these days that gave us the idea its okay for our Filipino kids to go Trick or Treating? Are we becoming so Americanized that we have to dress up our kids for candies like what they're doing? Do we even know why we're doing it? Have we finally run out of third-world things to do on Halloween? Or for the rest of the year for that matter? Because if we are, then there's no reason why we should stop with Halloween. We might as well do Thanksgiving, and we'll do it not for any cultural significance or whathaveyou, most definitely not for the Indians, not for shit, but for the poultry. And why shouldn't we? We're already dressing our kids up like little brown devils to ask for candy, we might as well go overtime with all this cultural social climbing and do Thanksgiving. Halloween for the candy, Thanksgiving for the turkey. But we should learn how to stuff that Andok's chicken this early on.

All in all, this trick or treating business among our kids, our Filipino kids, has got to be a singularly conceited affair that makes no sense in this third world country. Truth is, we all probably grew up in the same dark ages where our Halloweens were identified with candle wax balls and ghost stories on TV. But I never grew this unnecessary inclination to dress up my nieces or nephews as ghosts, goblins, hookers, or firemen just for treats. I wouldn't know how to make sense of it all. Kids are terribly inquisitive little devils by default, and I know one of them will ask me WHY THE HELL am I wasting good money on cheap-ass costumes that make gay dipshits of them.

I really wouldn't know what to say to that. I'll just teach them how to make the baddest candle wax ball instead.

Picture from Chromasia.com