I used to write like this half-baked socialite with a darling love-slash-hate for poor people and a distinct affection-slash-disgust for their overall poorness. I called myself Ben during those possessed occasions, social climbing circulated in my veins, and I poked fun over the littlest third world thing. Anyway, here's the entire series, which had a longevity of eight posts. I don't know why I stopped there; I suppose it was because I started feeling poor myself then.
Will you, my darling punk reader, please click on a fucking link already? My favorites are highlighted, for you sheer masturbatory pleasure. Much obliged! Muahness from Pasig Citehh!
1. Remembering the Super Feeling Coniong Ben Tumbling
I think I was possessed by some deceased socialite with an attitude when I was doing Ben. They call it Automatic Writing.
This was the very first time that I did, and enjoyed, Ben. He was buying his Marlboro Lights at the nearby Mini Stop when this bitch fit happened.
3. Ben
Congratulations to the dual personality that is Momel slash Ben for a beautiful year! And this post also explains why he calls himself Ben.
Exactly. Lait. The sonofabitch had a fun time harassing the English of this one blog. He then complains why he had to share the same body with yours truly.
Ben defines libog with a tongue-in-cheek account of Princess Baldo and The Gay Queen's sexual pursuits. He compliments this spirited tirade with scattered potshots at yours truly. Fucking A!
The make-believe laitera cum laude shares a list of believable courtesies that we all can use while in an elevator. It was inspired and written in true Ben Tumbling fashion; the poor are not spared.
7. Swearing on Blogrolling
Blogrolling used to be my first organizer for you darling punk readers in my roll. Ben pimped that darling add on like it was fucking hung.
Ben defines and makes fun of the Gaway Gaway people who learned how to chat and opened new horizons with which to display their stupid. And then he goes on ahead to bash that Jovit Moya. Who is now a gay cop.
