Story of an Ugly Homeboy

**This is a hate post. Because I loathe this dick with a hatred that's reserved for incompetent sons of bitches that's just as conceited as they are ugly.

It's bad enough that you're ugly. No, we're not talking about the garden variety kind of ugly doomed to spent a lifetime of masturbation because they ain't never gonna get themselves laid, oh Lord no. We're talking about the repulsive-type ugly that causes people to cross themselves as a reflex. It's the Quasimodo-type ugly that's best left alone in a bell tower to isolate the children, oh the dear children, from what can be a lifetime of psychological anguish towards a very specific childhood memory. And by "memory," we're really talking about your face.

What makes it worse is when you're That ugly turd, and you're in a position of power. The funny thing is you're not that accepting of your shortcomings. To you, ugly is relative, and you don't understand why the guys snicker and snigger as a general response to your time-tested coolness. The faggots point at you and break out in fits of devilish laughter. As if they'll ever experience your fantastic manhood, you tell yourself. Those horsefaced freaks, you tell yourself in what can be a rare display of wit, Bray! like the fucking donkeys they are. The kids are awful with their blameless innocence. You could punch these little goblins everytime they question your biological make up.

You've grown accustomed to the unprovoked shower of spittled insults from these dicks, but it's the females you can't stand. You don't mind the fugly bitches; they can jeer all they want, but they're still not getting a piece of you. But the hot ones, oh merciful Jesus, those ones are an entirely isolated pain the nuts. You're, what, 28 in human years, and you have yet to score. Fucking virgin.

You wonder what went wrong as you repair to your family to shelter you from all this unfair response. Your mother, being the frog that she was, spawned a foaming pod full of healthy eggs. These eggs eventually became you and your siblings. You were the most likeable of the lot, the handsomest even, because you had the biggest frog mouth, the longest frog tongue, the largest frog eyes, and the slimiest frog skin. Your frog piss created super wartsin record time, and that potency is a big plus. That potency gave your siblings the frog equivalent of what is called penis envy in human terms. You so rock, you tell yourself.

And so you have good reason to challenge these narrow minded retards that call you ugly. You tell yourself.

The tadpole that is you mutated into a thoroughly horrifying bullfrog. And you wore glasses, for good measure. You croaked your way into a supervisory position in that call center job; you know you've got it made when you finally have underlings towards which you can endorse your thoroughly repulsive person. But they're not as much as underlings as they are opportunities, you tell yourself. You imagine kissing one of them smack on the lips to undo your frogness. Maybe even half a kiss, just enough to give yourself an idea as to how a woman's kiss feels like. Maybe you'll bring that up on your next coaching session. Maybe you'll get lucky enough to get laid, you tell yourself. Might as well schedule the next team building.

But as it goes, the spectacular black magic that caused your promotion came with a curse. You will be blinded towards your spot-on incompetence. That resulting blind spot, furthermore, will be reinforced by an unprecedented lack of personality that does nothing to even your chances of getting laid.

You will be a supervisor, yes, but it will not be enough that you're ugly.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OCEAN!

**Say it loud! Feel it roll!

If I won me the lottery, the first thing I'll buy is the South China Sea. So I can tell people to "Get the fuck out of my ocean! You're peeing my dolphins to death!" I'd tax them assholes for swimming in my sea, and I'll probably enjoy a lucrative return in my investment because I'll impose charges for even crossing my ocean. Of course I know it won't happen, but what the hell, right? That line rolls so good in my tongue, its near orgasmic. So I'll say it again.

Picture from Fugly.com

Your Ultimate Heartthrob Broke My Gaydar!

**Shit, and the poor little thing has got Wifi, too!


I think their ultimate heartthrob is well endowed. With this boner that ultimately throbs itself into a fierce erection. That stands at attention towards the masculine delectability of another potential heartthrob. Who may or may not mind the unexpected attention. Because they've been masturbating a lot in the closet. And they need some action, Now!, because their perspiration smells like mothballs. But I could be wrong. Wait until I upgrade my gaydar. And I'll even name names. Or at least I could give them some lame pseudonyms like "The Ultimate!" Ultimate Power Bottom, that is. At least there's still something ultimate about them.

And there you go.

A History Lesson From a Cab Driver

**This might not interest readers from other time zones in the internet. But its about the hands down richest person in the Philippines.

I learned me something new on this one cab drive to the office, and it explains why there are no Mercury Drug outlets in ANY SM Department Store. And this was according to an old timer taxi driver whose hearse, like him, has seen better days. And it should be mentioned, too, that the dude drives with a death wish, it's totally un-freaking-believable. Anyway, it turns out that young Henry Sy, Magnate of Magnates, Obscenely Loaded Super King of SM, had this makeshift shoe shop next to this Mercury Drug outlet once upon a time in Carriedo. What usually happened was that them Mercury Drug people would drive the young business tycoon in training away from the premises. This inflamed young Henry Sy, and he vowed that NO Mercury Drug outlet will benefit from his wealth.

He was squatting on another establishment's business premises, and so nobody paid him no notice and continued to shoo him away.

And so it goes that Henry Sy prospered with a vengeance. He now owns 33 department stores (which includes SM Mall of Asia, the Fourth Largest Shopping Mall in the World), controls two banks (Banco de Oro Unibank and China Banking Corporation), and, at an estimated net worth of around 3.4 billion US dollars, he holds the royal privilege of being the richest brother here in the Philippines. And, to this day, he remained true to his word. There are still no Mercury Drug outlets in ANY SM Department Store. Correct me if I'm wrong, will you?

I researched the details, but the juice was mostly due to this animated old timer who drove with a death wish. It took me five minutes to get to the office, and I gave him a ten-peso tip for the history lesson.

Did Hitler Really Ejaculate During His Speeches?

**One of the more nagging worries which prompted this post was my Keyword Analysis statistic in my hit counter. Apparently, people who Googled the phrase "hitler ejaculation during speech" found my blog in their search results. Try it. It's the first search result, as a matter of fact, it's way up there, first picks, like I specialize on Adolf's bodily discharge. A pervert finds a kindred spirit with a kinky Google search, but it's got Hitler on it, and I'm not having none of that shit.

The whole mess is alarming, really, a big fucking shock even for my desensitized standards. I know I'm thoroughly a faggot all throughout (every which way, don't need MENSA to verify that), but MY Final Solution (I aim to mildly upset people who I can't indoctrinate with my wholesome homo-ness) employs a Blogger Account, DSL access, and a steenkeeng mouthful of verbal diarrhea. I've never met a Jew I didn't like. Never met one, really, but I'm positive they're a thoroughly likeable bunch.

This association (being the top search result on Hitler's ejaculatory habits) is highly retarded. I just want to say that, but I don't mean to delete this other certain post which caused that fake celebrity. See, the reason why my blog ends up as a search result is largely due to this post I published in 2006. It's called "You don't need to know these things, but I'm sure you'll read this through," and it's a kinky enumeration of fetishes and sexual trivia. Nothing you'll tell your parents, though. Like, did you know that the word "Penis" is Latin for tail. Are you aware that soaking your testicles in iced water can increase sperm production? And did someone tell you that the word "masturbation" was only introduced into the English language in 1759? That post is charged with useless information that solicited a fair amount of comments at that time.

Anyway, item number fifteen on that post mentioned that Adolf Hitler frequently ejaculated during his speeches. It didn't give us no specific details, but that explains why I'm getting first picks. This post asks a question for it's title, and so it is just proper that I stop the introduction and jump to the answer itself.**

Yes. He did. And, on a lighter note, the sonofabitch's dead. He committed suicide, and he did it proper, too! He blew his brains out with a Walther PPK 7.65 mm pistol less than a day after marrying Eva Braun.

There.

What Hurts Like a Cheap Root Canal?

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