**I have written a "maybe" insensitive post about somebody with HIV. However, I am giving myself a week to decide whether to publish or otherwise. I know I'm a jerk, and I could be an extremist jerk, and I know what I wrote could ignite needless debate. The truth is I no longer engage in comments wars because such litter are just as useful to me as a punch in the face. Like the nearly rotting tilapia that is used to make buro, I, too, have matured.
Meanwhile, here's something I wrote a few years ago. It could be relevant now. It talks about medication, but it's really a study on joke delivery. I have decided to include the comments with this re-post. You should know that there was once upon a time when this blog had such darling action.
First, the joke in the ideal tongue:
Q: Paano mo papainumin ng gamot ang bakla?
A: Ihalo mo sa tamod.
And now, its english equivalent:
Q: How do you medicate a faggot?
A: Mix it with sperm.
My blog is a decidedly English mess, as far as the medium goes, but exceptions are in order if and only if it best gets the point across. Of course, I can choose to use the phrase "mix it with sperm" for consistency's sake, but that spineless translation doesn't hold water. Ihalo mo sa tamod is a killer. And I suppose it is the only judicious method with which to deliver that punchline.
Now if you can please say these lines repeatedly, and if you should be so kind to say it out loud for the benefit of those within earshot:
Ihalo mo sa tamod.
Ihalo mo sa tamod.
Ihalo mo sa tamod.
Surely you, my reader of such individual and refined humor, will agree, hopefully, unless you're autistic, that this Tagalog equivalent, this mischievous mantra, is the only acceptable currency that will make the joke profitable. Mix it with sperm makes it sound like an episode of Junior Masterchef. Or a refresher in Chemical Engineering. This English equivalent weakens the thunder of the joke, bankrupts the toilet humor, and it will embarrass the teller with "polite" reactions. Or it can be a dirty finger, too, depending on the company you're trying to entertain at that time.
Mix it with sperm. You know you blew the joke somewhere when you're getting paid with reserved smiles.
Now, here's the kicker. Understand that this joke works best when said by another faggot; there is nothing quite as mentally sound as making fun of yourself. It's an unspoken license, a perk if you may, much like our African-American friends and their N-word. It will, however, appear bigoted and offensive when delivered by a non-member, a non-GL Card holder (GL Card = Ganda Lang Card). This sanction includes you "babaeng baklas." You know we love you, not as much as we love our boys, but we love you just the same. Yes, we allowed you rights to our slanguage, but there are things that are, for lack of a better term, non-transferable. Don't try to circulate this joke for your own benefit. I will scalp you.
What you can do, though, is you can teach this joke to one of your many, many homosexual friends. Let them deliver. It doesn't matter how they say it, or how they do it, but it rolls better, and sounds safer off a homosexual tongue.
**I have no idea what I wrote here, but I like it. Maybe it's a one-sentence story.
There was a call center homo who lived a thoroughly boring life that nobody cared to know him and so they didn't.
End of story.
**Have you kissed your digits goodbye yet? Here's to you and your fireworks.
I've never had a bad Christmas until that one in 95.
My mother, she's a doll I tell you, and she was wrapping singulary empty gift boxes. She was more like preparing them for display than having them summarize the holidays with new stuff on Christmas morning.
She had enough money for boxes, gift wrap, and tape, but not enough for actual presents. I was never a brat, but there was still some reasonable materialism in my person. Practice made it all the more refined. And with all my previous Christmases, I had more than my proper share of practice. My holiday spirit was this growingly greedy presence, more like an evolving summary of my abundant Christmases past. And it was that same nasty spirit, however improperly reasonable because it uses "upbringing" as an excuse, which played a big role in imprinting that memory with severe graphic detail.
I tell you, you don't forget things like that. It killed my expectations, made quick work of paralyzing my Christmas Spirit, and left me decidedly less convinced of a merry Christmas that year.
**Of course, I am not referring to ALL of them, but there are certain drivers who give you THE impression that they all attended the same dipshit taxi driver college.
**Meanwhile, I first wrote this six years ago, December 10, 2010. I felt like reposting this now on account of I sort of miss the interaction I had with my readers then. Plus I am still licking scratch wounds somewhere, and that has been keeping me from publishing fresh content.
1. They have to stop over for a gas refill. While the meter is running.
The only reason why a middle class queen bee like myself hails a cab is when I feel like I'm going to be late. My kinky night job guarantees less traffic, so I can allot some ten minutes to get to the office. Imagine my frustration as some taxi driver takes away five minutes of my allowance to refill his tank. We could have been using those five minutes to close the gap between my person and the office, but no. Hateful Taxi Driver Man has to take his time with what he can be doing while he's cruising, and he takes mine in the process.
Of course, I can always leave home earlier, but I have to allow at least thirty minutes to prepare, twenty minutes of which are spent in the washroom rolling the packaging tape.
2. They are closeted war freaks.
I remember this one time, just recently, when this driver got into a heated argument with a truck driver who refuses to give way. The taxi driver stops our cab in the middle of the road, catches the attention of this truck driver, attempts to pull him over, and he shouts the foulest of expletives at the same time. Its not love at first sight. Mr Taxi Driver Man is obviously provoking the fight out of Chickenshit Truck Driver Man. Chickenshit Truck Driver Man, being the surprising coward that he turns out to be, stays behind the driver seat and screams like a girl.
My Macho Posturing Dick Taxi Driver Man was grinning like a champion inbreed as he drives me home. This after alarming the shit out of my person.
3. They're sometimes grossly unhygienic.
Imagine being in an enclosed air conditioned space, and you're sitting next to this taxi driver who, after several minutes, reveals his alter ego without as much as a warning. Or a handkerchief. You find out that he doubles as this symphony conductor who specializes in wind instruments. Now, imagine those wind instruments as hoarse and throaty pipes with some sort of fluid discharge. And you find residual specks of said discharge on his steering wheel.
And then you begin to wonder: should you investigate your arms and the sleeves of your shirt for similar traces? You're thinking about it, because it will appear unethical. See, you want to shower him with kindness, as he was doing you with his spittle. So fuck you, Phlegmatic Taxi Driver Man, you and your unused Good Morning Towels suck.
4. They a. bore you b. make you uncomfortable c. freak you out with unnecessary small talk
And, as always, its the same old unending tirade on oil price hikes, bitch fits against the government, and oil price hikes. And bitch fits against the government. See, its the same silly tiring truck you probably heard from the last taxi driver who drove you home. And from the one before him. And you'll probably be adding your current driver, Boringly Dense Taxi Driver Man, in your list.
I actually wrote a piece about this certain sub specie. You might want to check out "My Three Wisemen Rode Metered Camels."
5. They drive with a death wish. And, being her gay impersonator, I just quoted Jessica Zafra.
It's a wonderful way to commute, them taxi cabs, what with the isolation from them cheap ass jeepney passengers, but it just might turn out to be my coffin with wheels as Eat Your Heart Out Knight Rider Taxi Driver Man here goes 300 on a 120mph road. Mach 5, baby. Sure, they take me home faster, but I still want to get home. Like, you know, alive and stuff.
6. They over-charge.
Its either that, or they don't offer Basic Subtraction in Taxi Driver College. Or they never make sure that they have coins or small bills. You know, with which to make change. So what I do is I make sure that they do; I sometimes pay with coins. Of course, this is simply in response to their scripted "Ay, wala kayong barya? Wala akong panukli diyan." (Ay, do you have smaller bills? I wouldn't be able to make change.) I'm just being a girl scout.
That's how you deal with the Greedy Dipshit Taxi Driver Man. You sometimes have to be an asshole in return.
7. They give you a hard time when its raining.
We all know that, by default, they overcharge when its raining hard. That's a fairly charitable understatement. And that's if and only if, underscore ONLY IF they agree to drive you to wherever the hell it is you're going.
Imagine yourself suffering this screening process for close to an hour, only to have your relief cut short by having Choosy Sonofabitch Taxi Driver Man small talk you to death on your way home. If the small talk doesn't get you, then the scary driving will. Or the fare.
They should know that karma in the year 2008 is digital. Its faster. Like broadband faster. Waaay faster than it was ten years ago. They should shudder this early on.
8. Sarah Geronimo should know that she used to sound like Celine Dion, but she was still a virgin back then. So she ought to stop trying hard to hit those notes because she's becoming so borderline desperate.
Oops, wrong list. But, while we're at it, I still think she should stop wearing those shiny clothes, too.
If you don't know who she is, then don't google her. What you don't know won't hurt your eyes or your ears. Or your sense of proper manners. Its not nice to throw insults, see?
9. You sometimes need to add twenty to fifty pesos more.
And then they'll take you in. It's either this, or number 10.
10. They forget to turn the meter on.
Of course, we know this is just a practiced scam which gives them the excuse to charge you their preferred fare. It's either this, or number 9, which ever comes first.
11.
You forgot to mention ODORS. I've endured many a taxi ride, inhaling at 3 minute intervals because of the rank stench of any of (but not limited to) the following : sweaty feet, shawarma armpits, or wet dog. Seriously. -- Sitting Pretty
Oh, good point, Sitting Pretty. And then sometimes, they sleep on their own cabs too, their bare feet resting lovely on that steering wheel after a whole day of driving. And I'll wager my long legs that those steering wheels stink of foot sweat.
12.
"What about taxi drivers who'd pretend not to know your destination or those who'd take the looooooooong route" -- Orally
And then Vajarl goes for the kill with this darling example
"Kanikanina lang, pasakay ako ng taxi, sabe saken "Magkano po binabayad nyo ron?" Sabe ko "Di po ba may metro?" Sabe nya, nako hindi kase ako naghahatid don, kaya magkano bibigay nyo?" Since marami akong dala, nagsabi na ko ng "70 pesos".Malapit lang naman. At 70 lang ang barya ko. Sabe ba naman "Eh 70 ren yun pag minetro ko eh." POTANGENA LANG." -- Vajarl
13.
"Been reading your blog for a while now, and I gotta say you elevate shit into fine art". -- A Fistful Of Moonbeams™
I was thinking of another Sarah Geronimo punchline, but I had to post this darling comment. I am now an artiste. Or something with enough quality crap to his bearing. And for all the right reasons, I figured I could well use a compliment.
14.
"One time I was on this taxi on my way to Eastwood.
The driver was flipping between radio stations. Somehow, the rock songs, OPM ballads, the "Tot-tot-tot" do not appeal to him, so he keeps switching.
And then he stopped at a radio station playing a song he liked.
"Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera'" -- Glentot
Maybe he was crusing, and that Christina Aguilera song was an invitation to his... motives. Scary.
This reminds me of this one time when this driver asked me what time I was supposed to be at the office. I know I left home early; I have about an hour left before logging in, and then the commute will take me another five minutes. Tops. So I told him that I was early for work. And then he asked me if I want to check in a motel with him. I said no. Because he was old and he was likely 12 out of those 14 hateful taxi driver types. And with that in mind, allow me one more quote
"I maybe easy, but I'm not cheap!" -- Au
brey Miles, from the movie Singles
Now if you can please say these lines repeatedly, and if you should be so kind to say it out loud for the benefit of those within earshot:
