Momel's Take: The Unwritten Rules of Blogging

**Or some reminders I often say to myself when I have all that time and no friends to talk to.

**Obviously, this is a repost. Cannibalized, if you may, and I'm saying that because I'm not having none of that cybercrime bullshit biting my rabbit-shit tits. I'll write something else soon. Muahness from Pasig Cirehhh! Werd.

1. Be polite. Remember the bit about not shitting in anyone else's backyard. Don't link a site that loads malicious software.

2. Bloggers love the attention, and they'll love you more for the comments. That means you actually took the time to speed read and digest what they're bitching about. Sure, it won't hurt to spare the details, but a generic comment is just self promotion plus the effort to verify the word string.

3. Yes, bloggers are people too. See rule #2.

4. "Just dropping by." As much as possible, if you're neither in his or her blogroll or an offline friend, avoid typing those three words in the tag board. Bloggers love the promotion, but that doesn't compare to the love of gratification for being read.

5. Blogrolls aren't there for show. There's a good reason why you're keeping this list of certain bloggers. Drop by if you have the time. But remember rule #4.

6. You don't have to exchange links if you don't want to. You will be clicking on those links every so often, so you better make sure that you're returning to a worthwhile read.

7. You don't have to comment back if you don't want to. But remember rules #1, #2, and #5. And the Golden Rule. And the Bible. And the Philippine Constitution. And all those GMRC subjects in grade school. Okay, scratch the Bible, but remember everything else.

8. Always introduce yourself.

9. There's never a boring blogger if you take the time to return. But then, remember that even online, first impressions still apply.

10. Blog about anything. It's not somebody else's space. It's not MY space. It's your space. That My Space bit was me trying to be funny. Take a picture. Grab a copy. But remember kids, it's still YOUR space.

This is the Sound of Me Choking

**"Kkkrkkkrkkk... kohokkkkk... krkrkk... KOHK..." That there is the sound of me choking. Meanwhile...

I am increasingly suspicious of the merits of couplehood. What the hell's the God Damned point when I know full well that it's not going to last anyway? I am rather weary of the "seize the moment" scheme of things. This excuse is suddenly an awful bother because my relationships will not last, never has, and never will.. Underscore never will; fuck forever.

Five years behind the two of us meant nothing, really, because I was still on my own after all those years. Sure, I learned something the hard, choke-on-tears way. And I had no choice but to, dahh, charge it to experience. I suppose I could drown myself, if we're talking choices, but my constitution's seventy percent adamantium. The other twenty percent's glitter and the remaining ten percent's sperm. This is because I am a homo, and I am just saying.

What's the point of couplehood when it's not going to last anyway? Relationships are sacred, and they require a dedicated amount of patience, devotion and a serious assful of emotional investment. It takes time and industry to stay together in spite of the many fuck ups that give your relationship a good cervical bruising. Staying together is an impressive undertaking. But is it really worth it when I know full well that it's not going to last anyway?

Relationships fall apart, and what else do you have to show for it? A person can't have too much life lessons; he will vomit the excess out of his shitter. Most relationships are an unprofitable waste of time, diligence, and patience. I could be masturbating the whole time I was in a relationship and be thoroughly satisfied until I'm half blind.

I've had my share of the beautiful privileges that come with an intimate couplehood. I've had my share of those hugs and those kisses. I know how it feels like, felt like, will feel like. And it is no different now from how it was with my crumbled five-year relationship. Tender is the touch of the one you love. I know how it feels like, felt like, will feel like. And it is no different now from how it was with my crumbled five-year relationship. Being introduced to his mother feels like rocks. I know how it feels like, felt like, will feel like. And it is no different now from how it was with my crumbled five-year relationship.

Tempting, but I won't segue the fucking because that will ruin this tender momentum. So I won't. And I am terribly apologetic for that, my dear unwashed reader.

And here's a confession.

I should be crying now because I just realized the most depressing, rock-bottom truth about being gay. Our intimate relationships are not meant to last. I can be with a jowa¹ for a year or two or five, but we will not last. Fuck forever. And then I will scamper from one temporary pairing to another. We will meet and then date and then become an item. And then we will fight, and then make up, and then I will doubt, and we will break up, and then we will break up for real. My trust in relationships will decay a little more with each failure. And it will be that same tiring cycle all my short life. I will be so consumed by my makeshift romances that I will forget to keep track of time. And then, suddenly, I will be far too old and withered to pursue another relationship. And then I will commit suicide by masturbation.

It's a sad, lonely life. And I figured they call us that, Gay, for a reason. If we cannot have a truly happy life, then we should at least have a cheerful label. Gay. It's mostly a pity thing, I suppose.

That being said, I have elected to give couplehood another chance. This is where I am right now, and I am growing rather fond. It is not necessarily sweeter, but it makes living a thoroughly energizing experience.

Haha, I choke on a lot of things, and that includes the things I say.

1 jowa = bastardized term for lover

How to Break Up With the Tin Woodman of Oz

**This is how I won my fifth LitWit Challenge. Werd.

To My Dearest Everhard,

It never occurred to me to just leave you in that forest to rust. But that was a surprising blessing until that bitch from Kansas came along. You know, you were stupid to go on that mission with an ax as opposed to an umbrella. I could have sent you off with one, but I had faith in your macho posturing ways, and it was faith well placed!

Corrosion never crossed my mind! But it rained, and your oxidation was divine! It was the very comfort of my liver, the sunshine in my pockets, the very promise of peace in between my legs until little blondie came along and made you mobile.

Oh cheese it. It looks like you’ll have to stick with the plan all along. Remember how you promised me a heart that will reciprocate? You promised me a beating heart that will resonate with the harmonies of my, well, my undying love. You promised me a loving heart that will sing a duet with my affections. You promised me a heart that will validate your end of this relationship. You promised me a heart, and you believed it will be worth the adventure.

How very daft. I was just in it for the sex. And I hated it with the same livid passion as the East Witch has for falling houses. And that is why I’m writing you this.

You were always hard, sure, but it turns out that nothing beats real muscle all along. Tin is, well, scary when it penetrates. It’s scarier when it punctures. And that’s assuming that you know what you were doing in the sack. Your foreplay rusted way before you did in that forest. I’m sorry that you have to hear this now, but you are both a health hazard and a lousy fuc… fetish. Seriously, dude. I’m getting sick of the transmission fluid every time we do the kinky. And the fractures. And the smell of polish. And your pervy oil can sex toy.

I am now blaming myself for living in with somebody with a hard on in all the wrong places. Everywhere, for that matter, and it was a real drag to my hemorrhoids. Truth is, you weren’t much for anything. We had plenty of firewood, sure, but that won’t keep this lovebird in place.

I am mailing this letter, by a wish, to the General Postmaster of the Emerald City. And I hope this reaches you by the time you get your heart from the Wizard. You don’t know he’s a poser with this fog machine, and that is why I sent you off to him in the first place. Never mind that he gives you something as fake as his magic. Symbolic my ass; I honestly wanted you to have a heart all along.

This is because I’ve always wanted to break something in you. Which ought to serve you right for all the broken bones you gave me every time we do the missionary.

As Wasted as the Great Sandy Waste,
Me

P.S. Leave me alone. Don’t try to flying-monkey your way back to me. I also have a pair of those ruby slippers, and I know exactly how to use these babies.

Of God and Second Hand Reasoning

I was discussing infidelity, with a friend, when his "wife" texted him. Funny word, that. "Wife." These kids are so unhinged these days that the 17-year old mother of their 7-month old kid automatically becomes their wife. But that's not the point, so let me correct myself.

I was discussing infidelity, with a friend, when his "domestic partner" texted him. Doubtful phrase, that. "Domestic partner." But who gives a shit about political correctness anyway? Like it matters here in the Philippines? When you're here, and you're this guy in a relationship with some homo, then you're automatically "namamakla." That's basically the derogatory long and short of it. It's that black and white. Domestic partner my ass. But my friend's straight as an arrow, so let me correct myself.

I was discussing infidelity, with a friend, when his "significant other" texted him. See, he found out that she's been flirting, with strange enthusiasm, with this guy. And he found her out through a series of very revealing text messages. It turns out that they've been at it for a week now, and they're already exchanging I Love Yous, and they call each other Mama and Papa, and she's texting my friend less and less, and she always has some excuse for not doing so. But he became suspicious, and livid when he found her out. He was smiling as he was telling his story, but I can tell he's furious with the way he's breathing during his narration. But then his "significant other" texted him with bullshit that goes a little something like this:

"I'm sorry becauseyoufoundbutimaginethedevilishfunwe'llbehavingifyouhadn't Hindi na mauulit orIwillbeverycarefulwithoursecret Kung ang Diyos ay marunong magpatawad eh tao pa kaya?"

She had me thinking when she mentioned God in her second hand hearsay of a plea.

See, I'm not exactly a fan of God, but I respect him enough to keep down with his dawgz. I may not know much, but I know well enough to, under no circumstance, to never use the Lord's name in vain. It's a direct affront to the Eight Beatitudes, and violators will be punishable by a hundred hours of community service without bail. "Thou shalt not use the name of the Lord in vain, thou cornered infidel, maybe on Tuesdays." Did I get that right?

I may not know much, but I know I'm not having any of her "If God can forgive" shit. Personally, that line holds as much water as a strainer, and it has the strength of a superstition to match. In case you forget, that same God was rumored to have drowned half of the planet, okay the whole planet for forty days and forty nights, gave the Egyptians hell with the ten plagues, smited the Sodomites in a mighty rain of fire, and, in an all-powerful display of creative punishment, He turned Lot's wife to salt.

Yes, the table kind of salt. NaCl. Sodium Chloride. Honestly, you'd expect better from the same dude who pulled Eve out of a rib. Yes of course, I love Him just the same.

Our God is a forgiving God. But He's got this famous temper, and He's given to divine fits with genocidal consequences. Or has she forgotten that? So I asked my cheated friend to text her back and tell her this:

"Oo, nagpapatawad nga ang Diyos. Pero marunong din siyang magalit at magparusa. Suck my dick."

"Yes, God can forgive. But he can also get angry and punish. Suck my dick."

I'm kidding on the suck my dick part. You know I'm a jerk. But she didn't text back to this reply just the same.