**I will be doing more of these. You guys should, too. These write ups are born of spontaneity, and are more or less topsy turvy in all their flotsam and jetsam.
I have resolved to do more writing on account of I need the practice. I am suddenly keen on developing a skill, and I am just as surprised at this volcanic eruption of inspiration. I haven't the faintest idea where it came from. Perhaps its a growing-old thing; I never had the visitation of these ideas during the carefree, cock-hungry days of my youth. Not that my approaching 30s -- well, I surrender. Growing old does charge your inclination to feel useful and profitable and altogether necessary to a certain degree. And it affords you ideas that would never bother the erotic preoccupations of your otherwise youthful person. And so I have resolved to write more on account of I need the practice. Maybe I'll take some writing lessons, too, because, next to sex, writing is the one other thing that I'm just as passionate enough to actually apply for an enrollment. There weren't schools that offered courses on The Perfect Blowjob, so I'm considering the writing courses. Not that I needed the lessons anyway. I'm not referring to the -- let me cut myself short at this point. I supposed I've had enough writing practice for today.
**Let's all brace ourselves.
Iisa lang ang masasabi ko. Sasayaw kayo sa inauguration ni Noynoy! (There's only one thing I can say. You will all dance in Noynoy's inauguration!)
- Kris Aquino in Pilipinas Got Talent on the group Velasco Brothers and their death defying hippity hoppity
If there should be an occasion to be unbelievably dumbfounded, or at least at a loss for words, then this is it. It would be unprofitable to comment, seeing as there isn't an arrow of a word to hit the bullseye, so I'll elect to keep it shallow and safe and talk about the weather instead. The sun can't be anymore of a motherfucker than it is these days, don't you think?
**Is it a summer-word? Because it's as welcome as chickenpox and mumps are. 
Unlike it's unfortunate pocket monster namesake, Jejemons display a certain kind of evolution that's most certainly backwards. With enough battle scars, a Charmeleon is expected to evolve into a flying, firebreathing war machine that is a Charizard. Jejemons, on the other hand (the one with the sore dirty finger, no, your other left), are retards by default; they've reached the rock bottom of the illiteracy pit, and they're armed with shovels with which to dig deeper. They're working with the English Composition skills of a ten year old kid in an underfunded public school, and are working backwards. They don't grow. They rot. They don't evolve; they degenerate, like the grammatical inbreeds that they are. Like Noynoy Aquino, a Jejemon doesn't have any real ideas, no more than a swarm of mosquitoes has. At least they've got somebody to root for, them lousy dick Jejemons. It might be argued that these Jejemon believe their makeshift vernacular is the hottest trend in cute. But theirs is the written speech of a drooling mongoloid with a harelip. What's so hot about that? No offense to the mongoloid, though, but these Jejemons, these self made imbeciles, are plagiarizing your language. You should ask your parents to sue for you. For propriety's sake, you damn well should sue.
**I'm now talking about the office. Think of this as an omen of sorts. Why am I putting ideas in your heads? 
