Thursday, November 20, 2014

My Rules on Facebook Likes

**Before anything else, allow me to share a "quote" I created a few years back. 
"Why, is that a dick to be Liked?"

I used this in one of my earlier posts, What to Like in Facebook, and I wrote this in keeping with what you really want to say when somebody asks you to "Like my Page please," but are too polite to give them the finger. That sentence was a mouthful, I know. Meanwhile, That picture is public service, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, but nobody really used it anyway, so fuck that and let us move along. 

This list explains my Facebook Like Policy (haha). You could disagree on the things enumerated here in an equally sulfuric post, tell me about, and I am not going to read it. I can honestly promise you now, in earnest, that I will not give a fuck. To each his own, Dearly Beloved, you are what you Like. And having said that, let us begin this list.  

Baby Pictures During the First Seven Days

Seven days. This is because not all babies are this cute. 

I would like to say how I feel for you, first time parents, and your boundless joy and the speechless happiness that comes with your angelic bundle of noisy ecstacy. I have personal reasons why I have decided not to reproduce. But I'm sure you have nothing but warmth for your Little Beloved, which is why I will Like all your updates for the first seven days following your delivery. This could be nickel-plated empathy, but I am genuinely happy for you, and I will then understand your usual mission of documentation. 

I will Like all your updates, and I'm talking All of them. That includes the hourly selfies and updates on your Little Beloved's shit patterns. Why, you can even post your Little Beloved's first used diaper in a trash can, and I will like it in earnest.  

This flood Liking will take place for the first seven days, where you are at the summit of your happiness inspite of your sore vajayjay. I will Like with restraint, as is customary for I have taste, on the eighth day forward. Hopefully, your kid inherited the cute genes so I can continue to Flood Like such updates. 

I remember this one Facebook status where this bitch updated everyone on the dilation of her vajayjay. "Omg, I'm 4cm na." Just sharing. 

Common Courtesy Likes 

I steal pictures from the Internet. I have no problems with them stealing pictures back. That, ladies and gentlemen, is The Golden Rule in motion.

I will not Like any of your updates if you have never Liked any of my updates. I have decided to believe that there is still such a novelty as common courtesy in 2014. Once upon a time, in the 20th century, the powers that be indoctrinated everybody with the principles of The Golden Rule. The Golden Rule asks everyone to "Do unto others what you would have others do unto you," and we grew up to its ironclad implementation that we were living it by the age of four. We grew up to Common Courtesy, what polite days, and I have reason to believe it died a few years back.

Common Courtesy is not a trend in Facebook. Everyone is so bent on being Liked, and then generating Selfies or updates that will collect more Likes, that no one bothers to pay attention to anybody else. However, I admit that there are a few Golden Exceptions who still manifest this kind of unusual acknowledgment, and they keep my little faith going. Like me, and I will Like you back. And that's basically the size of it. 

This explains my Common Courtesy Like Policy. There are near infinite ways to make fun of Etiquette, but I'd far rather not for it is something dear to me, like my G-spot, so let us move on. 


That tall homo writes this crap. To the left is his Awesome Tattoo Artist, Ms Rakel Natividad. 

Pictures of your new tattoos get automatic Likes. I feel for you, my Inked Dearly Beloved. This also explains why anything by my Awesome artist, Mam Rakel Natividad, get automatic Likes. 


We are talking about the family you were born with. 

Status updates from family members get automatic Likes regardless of the content. 

Some Selfies

Haha, a list on Selfie Rules smells luscious, but I don't have the energy. Or the interest.

I will Like your Selfies if and only if they fall under any of the following guidelines: 

1. You are genuinely beautiful or handsome, whatever. I should know since I know you in person. Underscore genuinely. 

2. You are genuinely beautiful or handsome regardless of your gender. I'll even add a comment that says "LikeLikeLikeLikeLike" if you were a truly beautiful boy or a really handsome girl. 

3. That is still your real face, and you haven't aged a bit.  

4. That is no longer your real face, and I am really Like-ing your cosmetic surgeon's intestinal fortitude. 

5. I really like you as a person.

6. You smile with your teeth. 

7. You are not giving me no goddamn attitude most especially when we know how painfully ordinary you look in person. 

8. You have no make up on. 

9. On the spot if someone took your Selfie for you (which defeats the point), but you went ahead and posted that stolen shot anyway because you don't give a fuck. 

10. You're a fierce bitch, qualified.  

11. Your Selfie isn't accompanied by some weak-ass plagiarized quote that really does nothing to bring out your eyes. Having said that, your Selfie Quotes really are irrelevant, aren't they? Where's your confidence?

Shameful Scandals

There is a German word for it. Schadenfreude. 

You are sharing some titillating scandal that involves people I know. It's okay if you're not mentioning names, but the clues you let slip gave us a passport photo in our heads. Thank you. 

Trust me, My Dearly Beloved, this is one of the two main reasons why I keep logging in to my Facebook account. I am a hopeful gossip because my life is mostly boring. 

Having the Steel Nuts to Tag the Object of Your Loathing

Think about it, Dearly Beloved. When was the last time somebody tagged someone in a Facebook fight?

You're tits are boiling in anger with that ALL CAPS status update directed towards a certain dip shit in our network of friends. And you are not keeping us in suspense because you actually Tagged the dip shit in question. Three snaps in a Z-formation to you, you fierce, fierce bitch. 

I hate it when people express their loathing over someone in their network, and they let the rest of their friends know, and they unload an emotional string of 100 furious words (no periods, one sentence) towards a very hateful Anonymous person. I get that you're livid, I am aware that you're boiling, but if you really meant all those F-words, then you should at least have the courtesy to fight fair and let the object of your hatred know. And us, too, since we, your intended audience, know the right kind of drama to pay attention to. Some of us have taste, you know. 

Think about it. How would we, your intended audience, know you're not making up the drama? 



I make it a point to Like a friend's accomplishments. And we're talking about the kind of accomplishments that they studied hard for, rendered multiple over time hours for, weight trained with religious discipline for, stayed loyal to each other after five years for, woke up at four in the morning for three months for, got nominated and then elected for, cheated a drug test for, got wrongfully detained and got out of it for, saved P100,000 so they can get a pair of silicon breasts for. So no, that magical anemic chicken you cooked for lunch doesn't count, unless of course you are quadriplegic and you were a telekinetic chef. 

Listen, Dearly Beloved, listen here. I am genuinely acknowledging of your triumphs, most especially when you deserve them. I am not kidding. But your "OMG, I just beat ___ levels in ______" update?

Quotes Like These 

And, for the troubled life of me, I still don't get broken hearted people who keep quoting crap about moving on, or about how the next love of their lives will be better and shit, or about how the ex was a womanizing cunt. You are telling us that you have "moved on" because? You already told us a week ago, why do you need to tell us again? Maybe you need the "Keep telling yourself that" kind of reinforcement, but bitch, please. Get over it. You are now in your thirties and you are still following that Marcelo dude? 

Happy Pictures of Your Parents 

Lovedoesnotagewhatthefuckamisaying. But there are exceptions.

Such pictures are love, undistilled raw love, and they get automatic Likes. End of story. 

I am now reminded of the sheer tastelessness of posting pictures of your recently deceased. Some morbid things are delicious, but seriously, dude, why can't you just tell us where the wake is being held? What, are we the kind of people that require visual evidence of a Dearly Departed in a coffin? What, are you thinking we are suspicious? What, they're not dead enough? What, the reports of their death are greatly exaggerated? 

And you should know that there is nothing original with this sort of weirdness.  
The Victorians have done post-mortem photography, and they did it rather tastefully considering their subject. We are talking 18th century here, my Dearly Beloved. What you're doing has been done to death, it is far from original, and it's still a loser update. 

Meanwhile, feast yourself on these fine examples of post mortem photography, 18th century style.

Updates by The Crushie 

I am too old for this shit, you know.

Get automatic Likes. Ugh, sonofabitch, I just said "Crushie." And I am in my thirties now. Anyway, Crushie is thin. Crushie is most definitely rock and roll. Crushie has more visible tattoos than I have. Crushie gives me spectacular erections all the time. Crushie is all that and then oozes with hardcore confidence. Crushie is someone I haven't met yet.  

Thursday, November 06, 2014

Be Afraid of This Clown

Title 2: Why This White Faced Motherfucker 

Dearly Beloved, this is Art the Clown. The Clown.

Now let me tell you the truth, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts. I just watched what could be the scariest shit in my adult life. There I was, all thirty four years of me, stealing a quick look behind my back as the credits rolled to signal the applause this film deserves. Oh wait, a cut scene. What the fuck, there is more to it? Why am I... Oh wait gran hijo de puta! Shit, you are not fucking with me again you goddamn white-faced clown. Mother. Fucker. That stupid bitch should have blinded the clown when she had the chance. I thought to myself that is exactly what I will do now as my eyes scanned my living room for something pointed.The credits resume, and I snapped out of it. 

And then I decided that this movie is, indeed, Boss-level scary.

All Hallows' Eve is what happens when Sadako's curse meets John Wayne Gacy's serial killing. Pennywise (from Stephen King's It) lends his maddest make up skills and fails. Miserably. Cap'n Spaulding (of Devil's Reject's infamy) decides to lend a hand in murderous intent and fucks it up real bad.Why, even that vigilante clown Buster (from that Masters of Horror episode "We All Scream for Ice Cream') and his ice cream voodoo squeals in defeat at Art's devilish tricks. Billy the Puppet (of the Saw series) is a goddamn dummy. I'm telling you, Dearly Beloved, those amateurs have got nothing on Art. 

Troublesome, motherfucking scary Art. 

This is John Wayne Gacy, a real life serial killer. He used to be The Bomb.

And this is Pennywise. Yes, he's in a sewer. What's he doing in a sewer? 

This is Cap'n Spaulding. He should be teaching his wonderful Foulmouthing in a university somewhere. 

And we have Buster. No scares, all ice cream. And some voodoo.

Throw in pools of black mascara and blacker lip stick on a mouth of decaying yellow teeth, and you have Art the White Faced Clown. Or Mime. He should be Art the Mime, the magical homicidal mime who will draw you in with that disgusting smile and keeps you in place with a loaded syringe. He smiles a lot, and he smiles with his eyes, too, that he makes you remember if you've ever been afraid of clowns before.  

Those clowns have nothing, not even remotely anything, on Art the Clown. By the way, this is one of the more unnerving scenes in All Hallows' Eve.

Have you ever been afraid of clowns before, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts?

You wished the things he did with his hands stopped at mimery, but he is as masterful with that amputation bone saw as he is with the usual flower stick. He had no dialogue so he spoke no evil (duh, why did I even write that), but his range of wicked genius (how very cheesy, Momel) was, for lack of a better word, The Shit. 

He holds firmly to his killing purpose with unnerving tenacity. And he flashes those rotting yellow teeth while he's decapitating a dude because he's a lunatic. Have you ever been afraid of clowns, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts? Try All Hallows' Eve. 

Did you know, Sweet Nuts, that there is a real term, and a website too, for your fear of clowns? Coulrophobia (kool-roh-phow-byah i-laav-beeg-deeks haha made you say it) stems from seeing "an unfamiliar face on a familiar body." This rational could work with kids, or equally impressionable adults, but it is rather lacking. The familiar body, of course, is the human torso with its extremities. What you get from the neck up, that unique clown weirdness, is the "unfamiliar face." And there you go. 

Now, the psychology behind this fear, the evaluation, is rather unconvincing if you ask me. I have seen masses of unfamiliar faces on unfamiliar bodies, but I am not afraid of drag superstar Nina Flowers. I am not afraid of that charming Prince Poppycock. I am not afraid of The Elephant Man, bless his soul. I am not afraid of Bebe Gandanghari or Jim Girl or that sickening population of third world rejects we see on TV. 

What's so terrible about the spectacular Prince Poppycock?

There is something infinitely more gripping with clowns that supplies some reservation at the back of our heads. I, for one, am doing triple somersaults because there is an actual word for "abnormal fear of clowns," but I am not that sold on the premise of an "unfamiliar face on a familiar body." Seriously, my Dearly Beloved, why are clowns scary? Is it because of the excessive make up that's made to look like a permanent grin?  A smile that does not move on a breathing person is unnerving enough. But then you magnify that by a hundred with tons of white face and lurid red lipstick that has metastasized. Seeing this badly executed smile on a grown up man with a dress gives it another dimension. Is that it? Is it because this "unfamiliar face" is trying so hard, in his weirdly spastic way, to make us laugh? Is it because this permanent grin doesn't speak and communicates with exaggerated gestures? Is it because, as kids, we grew up to the image of Death with a white skull, and the white 
face comes terrifyingly close? 

What makes clowns scarier? Bloodstains, that's what. 

And then we want to know why are some clowns endearing? Why do I find The Joker infinitely more interesting than some caped guy with a utility belt? Why is The Joker's girlfriend, Harley Quinn, just as exciting? 

I am not afraid of clowns, but I admit they somewhat worried me when I was a kid. Art the Clown modified my resolve. I am leery of Art the Clown not because he is "an unfamiliar face on a familiar body," but because he is the Perfect Scary Clown. Why, then, is he the perfect scary clown? Oh fuck it. You be prompt with your copy of "All Hallows' Eve." Make haste and scare yourself in earnest. You find this out for yourself. And besides, this mouthful on clowns is making me goddamn tired. 

Watch it.


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