Wednesday, September 29, 2010

It's Harry Potter on Crack, and The Perfect Mark Twain Quote Us Bloggers Can Use

**This bullshit book needs some loving. So here, presented for your orgasmic pleasure, Andy Mulligan's Ribblestrop. Meanwhile, we also have the perfect Mark Twain quote that's right on the nose for us bloggers.

You cannot un-see what you've seen; it's there, photographed into you. They were both looking at him, immaculate in his Ribblestrop uniform. A chalk-white face, with staring eyes that had no life. The lips were apart, as if the boy had died speaking, and he was bolt upright. But worse, much worse than this -- was the sight neither Sanchez nor Millie could look at... the top of the skull had been removed and, sitting there ripe and raw, like a brightly-coloured dessert, was the child's brain. Ribblestrop, page 244

Ribblestrop is like Hogwarts for Out of Control Youths that are a sneeze away from Juvenile Hall. They have 13 year old kids who keep guns under their pillows, chain smoking adolescent arsonists who blow smoke rings, most of the faculty's gone mental, and none of the kids are physically unharmed for long. The Headmaster, Doctor Norcross-Webb, is this jailbird with a remarkable debt to pay (it's six digits long, in pounds), and the Towers (Ribblestrop Towers, that's the school's full name) are just recently burned because of some arsonist kid from last term It was once mentioned in Jessica Zafra's blog, and. It's. Fantastic. Honestly, how can you disagree? Look at that quote; you never saw none of the Hogwarts kids getting lobotomized.

Own the book and then read it. It's masturbation gone mental. Or maybe J.K Rowling on some prime weed.

Now, if the Greatest American Humorist of his age, died 1910, had something to say about blogging, then it will have to be this

It is no use to keep private information which you can't show off.

Of course, he was referring to that cerebral calisthenic that we, as bloggers, subscribe to. My point here is that his explanation as to one of the many purposes of writing translated well into our age. He fucking rocks. Read him, too, and find out what hilarious content you guys have been missing out on.

And I'm showing off this quote because there's no use in keeping this information private.

And I will be posting the Jessica Zafra Meet-Up next! Next year, that is. Hahaa, I'm a jerk. No, really, it will be next!

Saturday, September 25, 2010

I Just Got Home From Cocktails With Jessica Zafra

And I'm still wasted from all that good cheer! I just met with the Mistress of the Universe, and what of it? Oh, it was intense! There will be a dedicated post, soon, written in that signature mental masturbation that you guys will grow to love/hate/pray for. Meanwhile, meet Richard Hadede. He's my entry to her latest LitWit Challenge, and, of course, a comment from the Mistress of the Universe.

Momelia: Hysterical! You have staked a claim on the comic-absurdist territory in these contests. While reading this piece I imagined Meatloaf and his giant breasts in Fight Club. Could you be. . .the gay Chuck Palahniuk?!

I don't know a Chuck Palahniuk, but it's Jessica Zafra, and you don't get things like these everyday. I heart it. And speaking of getting things, here's an autograph:

I call myself Momelia in her blog because "nakaka-babae yon." Same gay jerk anyway. Meanwhile, this is my new favorite picture now. Thanks, Ms. Zafra! I had a blast! And you guys, QSDN, sad_ism, cochise_miz -- I totally forgot your offline names, forgive me, but You. Guys. Rock!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Blog Soup #9: Propelling the Trapped Snot Out of Jessica Zafra's Nose, Prince Poppycock, and The Next Nice Post!

So I entered Jessica Zafra's LitWit 3.6 challenge last week, and we were assigned to explain what happened to that hot dude on that picture to the left. I wrote a love story with cats that speak German, and this is what she said:
Momelia: This morning I woke up with a dry throat and nasal congestion. I went out for brunch, drank three pots of tea and felt better, but by 5pm I had a fever. It went away after a long nap, but my nose was still clogged. Then I read your story and the laughter propelled the trapped snot out of my nose. Thank you! Since you describe yourself in your blog as my female impersonator, then the PK in your story is you. (Amsterdam is not a country.)
PK is Pussy Kamagong, and she's the heroine in my story. That's a porn name. Again, your porn name = the name of your first pet + the name of the street where you lived as a child.

I didn't win that challenge, but we (some of her favorite entries) got invited to drinks; I will be meeting Jessica Zafra for the first time this Saturday! I will get shitfaced with the One Female I think I've been sincerely impersonating all this time. It just doesn't get any better than that, noh?

I have won two of her LitWit challenges before, and I'm just saying. And I also call myself Momelia because, and to quote our local vernacular champions, "nakaka-babae yun." I'm thinking of using Pussy Kamagong, too, for the same reasons.

Speaking of gay influences, submitted herein for your daily dose of crazy fantastic: Prince Poppycock!

That link redirects to a You Tube video with this amazing, amazing talent. If you have time, go on ahead and watch it, and then in the wake of his brilliance, ask yourself this -- Figaro?

The Next Nice Post is not really a post per se; I'm referring to the bullshit pick up line that anonymous blog hoppers make for acknowledgment. That usually precedes the self-indulgent "Exchange links?"

Nice Post! Exchange links?

These days, its "Beautiful, well-written post." My problem with this up-and-coming cliche is that these comment-farming dicks don't even care to expound. How beautiful is it? Which parts are well written? It's a link to a Sexual Reassignment Clip on YouTube, and I wonder what well-written post you're referring to? I just copy-pasted my Facebook status, "My eyes hurt, my body's sore in all the wrong places, I've been feverish for a week now, and my blood count's awful low;" You think dengue is beautiful? Tell me you don't get what I wrote, but you find me an endearing jerk that you'd like to add me to your roll. I would gladly comply. But give me something vague and saltless and a general waste of space like "Beautiful, well-written post," and it's my finest foul mouthing in your general direction.

Hijo de puta, blogging used to be a creative waste of time in 2004. Now it's just rhetoric whoring.

Credits to Jessica Rules the Universe for that delicious rugby player's picture.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Lloydie's Cock in a Dog-Lock

**Ahaha, this is just far too devilish to let slip! I love a scandal just as much as the next prick, and I love it even more when there are penises involved. But when John Lloyd Cruz's¹ name is mentioned in the same breath! Oh, that's just about murder!

I'm so giddy I don't know where to begin! Really!! I've reached my daily quota of exclamation marks, but I don't feel like stopping!!! Aw fuck it. So this link, and this link, and this one, too, tells of how young and happening John Lloyd Cruz got dog-locked with his alcoholic girlfriend Shaina Magdayao. Dog-lock. You ever seen dogs fuck? It's more commonly known as Penis captivus, and it's more of a hilarious scandal than it is a rare medical phenomena wherein the...

Penis captivus
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search

Penis captivus describes an event that occurs in rare instances during heterosexual intercourse when the muscles in the vagina clamp down on the penis much more firmly than usual (a form of vaginismus), making it impossible for the penis to withdraw from the vagina. There is only one known report of penis captivus, in a letter to the British Medical Journal relating to an apparent case in 1947. According to the BMJ, this condition was otherwise unknown in the twentieth century.[1] Penis captivus should not be confused with the relatively common condition vaginismus, though it probably only occurs in situations where the female partner is subject to this condition.

And so it goes that, in the heat of all that passion, S.M's flower got bored, decided to go hardcore, and became a fucking venus flytrap. And it's got the jaws of a pitbull, too.

Funny, 'no? If you're not yet in the know, and you're way too dumbfounded (?) for words, then shut that mouth before I recommend electric shock therapy. There. It turns out that there's a catch; no, it's not Shaina's catch (can't help it). It turns out that these reports are fake, fabricated, and altogether shittier than a litter box. And guess what! It turns out that I'm not buying that shit.

First of all, what public figure in his right mind will admit to getting involved in such an awfully embarassing motherfuck of a mess? Hell, I'm an obscene nobody, and there is just no way in hell that any of you guys will find out that I was in a dog lock. There are things that a person denies to his grave. And if a person of no consequence, however fierce and long legged they are, like myself for instance, can commit to this unprecedented vigilance, then you can only imagine the arsenal of denial that somebody of John Lloyd Cruz's weight has at his withdrawal. Well, there's none of that withdrawal business happening; I meant disposal. He will go to great lengths on those short legs to protect his image. And at the same time, he won't tell anyone that Shaina's pussy smelled like gin.

That last part was not true, but it was rumored that she IS a budding alcoholic.

Meanwhile, in the glaring operating-room light of all this scandal, has it ever occured to anyone why in the world would an institution of St Luke's esteem allow it's name to get mentioned in such a shameful context? Don't they have the right to contest this sort of publicity? And where are the libel charges? Or at least the demands for a public apology? And what do we, the idolizing, worshipping public, get for the redemption of Lloydie's tarnish? Has it ever occured to anyone that they're getting away with a denial? And will somebody please tell that trying hard faggot Boy Abunda to please stop wearing shiny body hugging clothes?

Of course it hasn't. It's John Lloyd Cruz's cock in a dog lock. How can one, in the face of all this scandal, think of anything else for the time being? Hello.

¹How do you do the possessive form of names ending with a Z? Z's or Z'? I did the research, and it turns out that I far rather prefer the Z's. Of course, it would have been a great relief to my shitter to just do John Lloyd's, but I want to remove all doubt from your person. So there.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Breastfeeding in Cabs, Part Two -- What Really Happened

**"I don't think you're ready for this jelly." -- Destiny's Child

It happened on my way home, in this cab ride that usually takes about 25 minutes on average because it's about 3:30 in the afternoon then, and we're approaching rush hour.

It happened on this FX. It's this third world cab that can fit about eleven people including the driver. It's designed in a way wherein three people will fit like a glove on the front row, four people in the middle row, and then another four people in two parallel rows at the back, two people in a row. It's the awful dread of morbidly obese people who want to travel in comfort but can't afford a real cab. Because they either pay double or remain indifferent to the person next to them who are cursing them in silence because they're far too uncomfortable and maybe getting some attitude and cramps.

I was on the back row, and seated directly in front of me was this cadaverous little thing in her mid-twenties, perhaps 26 in zombie years, and she was hunched over this mess of baby clothes that were hanging from what was likely to be her poor malnourished kid. It was a girl. And the little thing was feeble and uncomfortable and altogether wasting; it looked to me like it's dying.

Allow me to exaggerate; I don't like poor and ugly kids.

I never expected this little shit to have any life force on it, let alone energy, so you'd imagine my surprise when sounds started to issue from it. Crying sounds. What started as soft sobs endorsed by its uncomfortable cradle magnified into whimpers that sounded like the terrible hunger pangs of a Siamese cat. Those things are dreadful when they're at their noisiest; they make this simultaneously sharp and guttural wailing that can only be Sarah Geronimo power-belting a Celine Dion hit while being kicked in the cunt. That's what it sounded like. And it was awful. Oh motherfucker, it was.

On cue, it's mother lifted her shirt from the right and she popped out a boob.
She gently took the little one's head with her left hand and guided it's crying lips towards her nourishing tits (haha, "nourishing tits"). She was pacifying her little goblin with those affectionate shushing sounds to drown out it's fading complaints. It's whimpers soften as it helped itself to its mother's meager provisions. Seriously, it had the makings of a pretty picture if only our subjects weren't poor and ugly in the first place.

I had the nasty opportunity to steal a glance at the mother's dried out and withering nipples, and my heart suddenly softened towards this poor infant; she's too young for powdered milk.

Tits do nothing for me; I have this protective layer about me, a Level 100 invisible force field that's made of sequins and glitters and has Sauron's blessings, and it throws magic missiles and projectile vomit at anything that would otherwise arouse members of the heterosexual persuasion. So you'd understand how indignant and confused I got when I found out, to my awful dread, that my mouth started watering when I heard those sounds, "Tch...tch...tch...tch...' as that baby started sucking the milk out of it's mothers tits.

(To be continued. Oh you god damned better believe it. And click here for Breastfeeding in Cabs Part One.)

Monday, September 06, 2010

Presented for Your Orgasmic Pleasure, A Blog Review: Mandaya Moore

**This is the first time I'm doing a blog review. And, for modesty's sake, I really can't honestly think of a better blog to shine and be such a fag about.

**And if you're straight and horny, I apologize for the inconvenience but I'm still delaying the story behind Breastfeeding in Cabs.

Mandaya Moore
TOPICS: Lovelife, Crazy and Endearing Homos, "Oh Yeah" moments
2007 (And there are clues that tell us he might be writing earlier than that)

Bakit Ako Nawala? (Why I Went Missing)

Yes! With occasional pictures of half-naked barrio men in their wholesome jail-free goodness!


1. Sugal (Gamble)

2. Sister DJ

3. Hindi Na Ako Sanay
(No Longer Used To, a prime refresher on foreplay)
4. Amigas

LINK: Mandaya Moore

This blog illustrates (gay verb) a working picture of the barrio (urban neighborhood) and then effectively marries that with the universal appeal of the funny gay guy. I like it because he writes about real things, and it's the kind of biting reality that most of us queers are living. Yes, that includes you.

It hasn't enough drama, and that is exactly the kind of gay blog that we need. Sure, it has its moments (like the Kulot days), but he's killer funny when he's in the mood. And that's almost always. Mandaya knows how to tell a funny story, builds up to the punchline with a series of quick nips and then wraps it all up with

a. a hilarious JPEG (mostly of his friends, Fiona comes to mind, or of his current lover on the infamous Green Sofa)
b. a really funny line

He's very consistent with his style of writing; he's wickedly deadpan. Funny is as funny does, there's just no excuse for it, and the writing is. Just. Perfect. They say a good writer makes you care about what you're reading, and this is exactly the kind of hot shit that Mandaya Moore Orlis is all about. He maintains this excellent writing juju all throughout, which probably explains why I didn't mind reading through ALL his posts. He uses very simple, but effective, Tagalog words in his posts, and swardspeak (local gay talk, only in the Philippines) is set to a bare minimum, thank you very much.

He's got this fantastic recall that found the best employment in most of his posts that needed dialogues. You'd think all his conversations were chat transcripts from your preferred instant messaging program, but no. How in God's green earth does one explain that effective remembrance? You have got to spill the beans on that, Mandaya Moore.

I never got myself bored in the research process. But then, in retrospect, it's not much of a research process as it is a hilarious walk in the park. He's all that gay sunshine in your pocket, until I got to this picture of his lover Kulot, and he was waiting for a bus. This was preceded by the termination of their six year relationship. That image stopped me cold in my giggling tracks, suspended all that laughing from his prior posts, and then I was simultaneously sad. I honestly wasn't expecting that, didn't know where that came from, and that's exactly what makes him fantastic.

I can relate to a lot of things that he wrote about (from the lover to the group of friends), and that's what makes it closer to home. Home may not be in the barrio, but it's got that universal two-snaps-in-a-circle type of ferosh juju that makes us gays stand out.

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Sodomize Your Metaphors, You Lovely Bloggers

**I solemnly swear this is not a sponsored post. Presented for your ultimate spanking sensation - metaphors.
**And I was supposed to do the Breastfeeding in Cabs Story right about here, but I gather I like this post more. Enjoy!

What is the origin of "shit-eating grin"? "a big shit-eating grin"? (My personal favorite, hands down)

What is the oldest phrase in English still in current use? (It's as old as 3200 years. Yes, bitch, Old Testament.)

What is the origin of "go to hell in a handbasket"? "going to hell in a handbasket"? (Powerful phrase!)

What is the origin of "To Paint the Town Red"? (That Sheena Easton song comes to mind.)

What is the origin of "Bad Hair Day"? (First heard in 1991. In the fowking UK. No offense, mates, I'm on a fowking roll, is all. Cheers!)

Because I'm not just sexy and long-legged, I'm also edu-tainment-ional. Ahaha, to hell with that made-up shit. So here's this site you can peruse if metaphors turn you on in a kinky kind of perversely orgasmic way. In case you needed a refresher, a metaphor is to writing as color is to painting (I got that line modified by Jessica Zafra's cat, Saffy), and if we are to maintain this blogging fancy and theirs (throw in the cat), then we need all the help we can get.

Metaphors are to writing as colors are to painting. To put it in another way, a lifeless style does to writing what Filipino police do in hostage taking situations. Get it?

If you want subscribers, then you have no business being dull. Unless of course you find it in your very marrow to rebut any modification that attacks your boring person. Please, be interesting and do figures of speech. Keep your shit tight. You can't be dull and duller at the same time. That would be overkill, and nobody likes that; I'd far rather be flogged with the family cat until I can no longer stand than read you in your tedious entirety. You are publishing your "random thoughts" online; don't tell me you're not asking for an audience. I can see you enabled comments, so stop pulling my long-legged legs.

Motherfucker, it's always "random," and it's always "thoughts," but it's still the same uninteresting mess anyway. One word comes to mind, though:

Maybe you can go ahead and bookmark this site(and bookmark me too, while you're at it), learn from it (like shit you will, but please try), and maybe impress the rest of us frustrated writers with your suddenly wonderful command of figurative language.


Blog Widget by LinkWithin