Dear Devina

**I am not at my proudest when I post mean things. However, I enjoy writing shit like this. Very, very much. And I know that this ... update lost it's opportunity by a few months. It could have been current if it was written a day or two following Devina's induction to the Halls of Stupid Racists. It would have been funny if people were still armed with a ready opinion. Bullshit. There is a point to this delay. I meant to say we don't easily forget. Bitch, please.

**The pictures from this post were borrowed from this post in China Smack. It's this travel guide with a Faces of Death feel to it. It is not for the faint of heart. It will leave you bothered. You can actually smell the very graphic pictures. There are things that you cannot un-see. But you will still click on it. I know you will. 



I am sure you are faintly familiar with Devina Dediva's anti-Filipino comments that surfaced with Megan Young's coronation. 

You can enlarge this image by clicking on it. Go ahead.

I understand that you, Devina, are simply following the time-honored tradition of being racist for your five minutes of fame. Prejudice for popularity. It happens a lot. And we, by we I am referring to our marginalized third world lot, we get plenty of that. We are usually the butt of your domestic helper jokes, and I do not respect that. We are infinitely more than that, Devina, and let me show you how. 

Persecute the person, not his or her race. See, Devina, we are now aware of your Indian origins. You are a Singaporean national with Indian roots. I did the painstaking research, and now I have material to work with. Before anything else, allow me to mention that I am impressed by the illustrious achievements of the Indian people. There's this, this, this, and this. Surely, an entire nation of such noble accomplishments is beyond this kind of racism. I know that. I understand that. And that is exactly why I am isolating that insecure cunt Devina from the rest of the wonderful Indian people. 

I am, of course, playing it safe. I am not messing with our Hindu brothers. Fo shizzle mah nizzle.

Having said that, Devina, do you know that your filthy racism reminded me of the Ganghes river. What about the Ganghes river?

It is this river. 

Now, if we should follow your generalizing train of thought, then I would assume that you, Devina, took a bath in the Ganghes river. Yes, that river. 

Did you also gargle corpse juice in the Ganghes river, Devina? No wait. Don't answer that. I know you did.

Did you also dip your boyfriend Prakash's uncircumcised dick in the cemetery waters of the Ganghes river before putting it in your mouth, Devina? No wait. Don't answer that. I  know you did.

Did you also wash your weathered pussy in these funereal waters, Devina? No wait. Don't answer that. I know you did.  

Did you also rinse your sagging boobs in the corpse juice of the Ganghes River, Devina? No wait. Don't answer that. I know you did.  

Did you have sex next to the floating carcasses of these rotting cows, Devina? No wait. Don't answer that. I know you did. That includes the having sex part. You look easy. 

I'm sorry what, Devina? You didn't have sex next to that dead cow? My bad. You had sex next to this dead man instead. 

We heard that you were fired from your job because of your racist comment, Devina. Goes without saying that it sucks to be you. But we knew you had it coming; your vanity was of the terrible, unrequited kind. Underscore unrequited; look at you. And, like adding salt to injury, we found out that your bosses were Filipinos. What a very delicious twist. Your bosses were among that race of maids that you so lovingly insulted. So, having said that, and following your racist track mind, would you agree that you were fired by maids? And if you were fired by maids, then what does that make you, Devina? 

What do you call a smelly cunt that gets fired by maids, Devina? 

That preceding sentence was a question and an answer rolled into one. The answer is Devina. Your name should have it's own dictionary entry, Devina. It will be the contraction of two words: Dev for devilish and Ina. Ina is a Tagalog word (Tagalog is the language we use when we Filipinos attending to our domestic helper duties). Ina means "Mother." Which would have been a gentle word if it wasn't associated with the easiest insult to say in Tagalog. Putangina. Tangina. Son of a bitch. And that is the nature of the "Ina" that we are including in your dictionary entry, Devina. 

I said "ladies," Devina. You don't count. 

Again, I have nothing, absolutely nothing against the entire Indian race. You guys have the coolest culture and the wickedest mythology and your ladies have the most mesmerizing eyes. Plus, you guys have one of the Wonders of the World to your merit. I regard your accomplishments, your illustrious achievements, your shining successes with an admiring gaze. Hats off and snaps in a z-formation to you people. This post was nothing but an attempt to humor this one particular overweight bigot, and her pendulous boobs that are meant for punching sideways, and that haggard sarcasm of a face, and her cocksucker cheeks (because they bulge), and her cocksucker arms (because they bulge), and her cocksucker legs (because they bulge), and her lousy attempt to drown her insecurity with a racist comment. 

Bitch, please. Do you honestly think you can get away with this? You see, Devina, you should have done your research. Not only can we Filipinos do dishes. We also do insults.

To Our Beloved Allison

**I am a cat person by choice. But we were dog people by default. This probably mirrors my deviant sexual preference... and that was an awful, insensitive joke.  Having said that, I will be suspending this week's scheduled cunt-bashing (that of Devina Dediva). Allison, the family dog, died from the complications of a massively ruptured tumor. 

...
...

I was itching to squeeze in a bitch joke sideways, but this is a loose obituary of sorts. Now tell me, my darling reader, what is Phenomenal Restraint? 

Allison

Born: December 2002 

Died: November 19, 2013

My mother said that "When a family pet dies, she is saving somebody in return." Thank you, Allison. I remember the funereal treble of your awful pain. I can only imagine how much you really suffered. Be a good girl and be at peace now. 

We love you.

The Kind of Attitude We Need

**I'll make this quick; I have some relief goods to pack.

Beautiful, isn't she? Meanwhile, there's something else I want to say. And this goes out to our detractors.

To Jax Cote, Devina Dediva, and your lot of racists: Bitches, please. We have survived mounting death counts. We smiled as Mother Nature was PMSing away on our poor little corner of the third world. We weathered Ondoy and Yolanda and Uring and Pablo and Sarah Geronimo and countless permutations of Mother Nature's menstrual discharge. Ugh, we rallied on and smiled at the face of of these awful calamities. We stared death at the face. We stared at our current administration at the face. And we did it all with that endearing Filipino smile. Bitches, please. What makes you think your philistine remarks will break the Filipino spirit?

Having said that, I would like to address that Devine Dediva. I have reserved a very special place in my demonology for very insecure cunts like yourself. I'll bash you good, real good, on next week's post. And, for good measure, it will have pictures like this.

Image from China Smack.

To my proud, "tabo"- wielding countrymen: Bitches, please.
This is not the time to argue about whose God has the bigger dick. This is not the time to itemize the multitudes of people our organized religions have helped. This is not the time to compare good advertising. There are other opportunities for our self-serving publicity stunts. This, however, is the time to be human. Strip yourself of your leader-led mob mentality and just be good, for the love of whichever God you are subscribed to. Just be good. Shut your pie hole; we are rather tired of each other's "Your God Sucks" spiels. Let's do volunteer work together. 

Image from Gl Brain.

Andoy's Unang Putok and Beating Sid Lucero in Marvel

**I was supposed to post this in between my usual Friday updates, maybe on any random Thursday or something. This was supposed to be an Emergency Post. And I was supposed to caption this with something friendly, like I will break my rules for this guy. Didn't happen. But his book did! Yeah, you go give them hell, Andoy! 

Unang Putok will be available in National Bookstore beginning November 12. 

I have known this blogger for several years now, met him twice, and remained a fan all that time. Still am. Enough about me. Andoy's got a book published!

This blogger is awesome. This book may or may not be the be all and end all of his writing career, but it's a good start. He deserves this, and much greater things, and I am rather glad that he is finally getting published. Painom ka ah! (Drinks on you!)

I will not write a review. I haven't purchased a copy yet, but I will get to it as soon as I have gotten over this inexplicable feeling that a blogger has for another blogger. It's indescribable, but it can be measured; it is 20 percent jealousy and 80 percent congratulatory. If you want a review, do a Google search. He has tons of die hard fan boys and fan girls who already posted the honor.

I would assume that this book is something that he, as a blogger, has always wanted to do, and I am happy for him and his accomplishment. On a more personal note, I am sorry, Andoy, that I wasn't able to give you That recommendation. You know what I'm saying, but know that I tried. However, with the look of things, your book will propel itself to a larger, book-buying audience anyway.

Congratulations Andoy! Your book will go places! And it is not because it has longer legs than you, oh hell no, far from it.

Meanwhile, I beat Sid Lucero in Ultimate Marvel vs Capcom 3. Well I'm sorry, my Facebook friends, if I had to rub it in. Again. See, you don't get home from a long day in the kinky office expecting some console gaming with a celebrity. Things like this don't happen everyday. Why, things like this don't just happen at all. And on the off chance they do, then you post it wherever possible just for good measure.

I had to customize this picture. So?

I'm the one with the head band. This was around 8:30 am last Tuesday. And yes, I know, UMVSC3 has been around for around two years now. However, I have never played it before with a celebrity. I have never, up until last Tuesday morning, played UMVSC3 with a celebrity. Having said that, and I say this on a "Shhh, it's okay" tone of voice, fuck you and your insecure fault finding. 

It was my "Best Pick" Team (Chun Li, Haggar and Rocket Raccoon) against Sid's (Zero, Wesker and Vergil). He was playing against my brother Jacob earlier (seen in the picture), and I knew Sid can pull off some combos. I remember he had to customize the controls since he's used to a different button configuration. And I remember the words "Bring it" at the back of my head.

Advanced guards, timed assists and TACs (Team Aerial Combos). Nobody's winning yet, all of our team members are still alive, and we're still figuring out how to off each other's anchor. Mine was Chun Li. His was Zero. Oh, that awesome leg tattoo wrapped half the length of his right leg.  

Game face on. Somebody managed to dodge a hyper and is closing in for some sort of punishment. Who knew who was leading? Notice how Sid worked his controller? He admitted he's not used to the PS controller. He owns a custom joystick. Yes, dude's a verified gamer. Meanwhile, you could stick two controllers in my wide open mouth.

He was down to one character at this point, I think it was Vergil, and he resumed his hyped gamer side. You know how it's like when it's neck to neck on a basketball game? And your team could win if they did it first? And the game has boiled down to the last critical minute? Imagine playing that much energy on a 32-inch screen . I won, by the way. I knew I would, of course. But it was intense because I beat Sid Lucero, haha.

Oh, that person to the right most (pearly white skin and pink blouse) is my friend Onath. I thank him for this twisted opportunity. We are forever grateful for this! And that lunch with the cast and crew is way beyond words. 

Horror Story # 2: What are You Doing, Little Girl?

**This is Part Two of my Two Horror Stories post. Having said that, you guys enjoy the scariest night, or nights, of the year. Enjoy it for me as I will be engaged to my kinky night job on All Hallows Eve and Halloween, respectively. What can I say? A grown girl's gotta do what a grown girl's gotta do. 

Awww, fuck it. I'm working on Halloween. You. Lucky. Bastards get your overflowing fill of horror movie marathons, and drinking on the graves of your loved ones, a long weekend, and getting paid days off. And what do I have? Taxable holiday premium, that's what I have. Thirty two percent of which goes to the most hopeless government in this side of the third world. Shit. Shiiitt!

I never saw her again, but I wished she paid another visit. I can use her smiling presence. 

The first time I saw her was in 2010. I remember it well because it was then that I broke up with my partner of five years. Actually, it was a few months after we broke up; I was no longer a mess, and I have been sleeping longer hours then. Anyway, this happened in the early hours of the morning. I remember that, too, because I was sleeping nights in those days. I was roused from the usual suspended state by nothing suspicious in particular. I just woke up. 

And there she was at the foot of my bed. The lights were off, but the large windows behind her allowed some moonlight to reveal her form. She appeared to be a little girl, a little over three feet, maybe four, and she had straight hair that framed her face down to her shoulders. I remember nothing of what she wore, or if she moved, or if she whispered. She was just there, at the foot of my bed, in what can be three in the morning. 

But I remember this one detail very well -- she was smiling at me. Again, the spare moonlight missed her face, but her presence was as happy as it was sudden. There was nothing scary or threatening about this strange little girl in my room at three in the morning. I remember she was small, and she had straight hair, and that she had the happiest presence for something that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place.

I was lying still. She was not moving. Has it been a minute now? I don't know, but I decided to sit up and maybe take a closer look. At that very moment of movement, my little angel then crawled down the foot of my bed, where I cannot see her, like she was inviting a game of hide and seek. I did not expect that. The cat I was still living in with, Prince, was huddled to my right in a careless ball. He was sleeping. I did not expect that, as well. He's supposed to be sensitive!

Her sudden movement down the foot of my bed did not discourage my investigation. I was curious as to what I was supposed to be seeing next. Will she be kneeling down? Will she be looking up at me this time? Will she laugh or snicker or whisper something? What is she up to? And so I followed her down the foot of my bed where it was empty except for my well-used slippers. 

And, aside from the movement from my years-old stand fan, it was silent. 

I looked back to where Prince was. He was awake. Not a miao or a flick of his tail issued from that cat. He was standing up and looking at me, and I felt he was irritated that he had to wake up to me looking stupid down at whatever. And if I remember it right, the words "Human, please" registered well at his face. I don't care. For some reason, my little angel's balming presence kept me happy that morning. 


I never saw her again. But I'm looking forward to it.