He He Hee-artwarmingest Part 3

Thank you so much Jhezper for the reference. You make me look like Jessica Zafra's gay impersonator. Aren't you sweetest summer kiss? He hee, I love it.

Related Posts:
Heartwarming-est
Heartwaring-est Part 2
Thank You So Much Bry!

Thank You Goes a Long Way!

I Give Myself Gifts on Christmas

I give myself gifts on Christmas. And yes, because I'm still going for the element of surprise, I wrap them presents until they're as pretty as summer. At least I'm sure that there's something to look forward to, some wonderful souvenir that will at least try to elicit a look of pleasant surprise, however practiced, come Christmas Eve.

I do this because I hate crappy gifts.

I AM buying the fancy idea poor people say a lot about thoughts counting more than the gift itself on account of I do tend to rain on somebody's Christmas day parade. On purpose. Most especially if I suspect that person to have wrapped this 10-piece shoe horn set with my name on it. Or if this other person gave me this monogrammed towel with the letters C A on it. Which is either a bad choice for a gift on account of my initials are R T. Or it might be a very cruel joke which meant the towel belongs to some Crazy Asshole.

But, like the good sport that I am, I always receive such presents with a fake smile. Or a straight face. Whichever is more appropriate.

The fake science that is Gift Shopping's pretty much hit-and-miss. You miss all the time, unless of course you're armed with a detail-specific wish list. Underscore specific since "porn," on its own, won't cut it if you get your kicks jacking off to gay male porn only to receive three volumes of heavy lesbian loving sea games.

Beggars Can't be Choosers Part 5: Only In the Philippines

The story is all about this group of carolers who were rushed to the hospital after a group of drunks opened a big can of whoop ass in the middle of their Christmas carol. Those drunks were singularly opposed to old school carols, so they asked for pop songs. Somebody in the crowd appealed to the drunks to please stop bashing the carolers. The said diplomat wasn't able to catch a flying bottle of beer which served as a prompt response to his request.

Allow me leave a blank space, enough for a paragraph, as I will be leaving enough room for disbelief. You remember the exploding laughter you receive after telling a very funny story? You remember how you'll be unable to speak as you're waiting for the laughter to die down? I'm going for that effect.


















Would it be a different story if we had eggnog as opposed to beer? You ready for another blank space enough for a paragraph?

Credits to Journal Online.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Aside from growing a third nipple, one of the other passions I've been holding off for quite some time now is reviewing Horror Movies. If anything, this should keep you guys entertained in between mind blowing bullshit epiphanies. I infrequently have those burst of truths, but I watch horror movies like I look out for sexually transmitted diseases. So we'll have a whole hell of plenty of those, I reckon.

I don't think the third nipple is going to happen at all, but the reviews sure as hell will. Truth is, I've prepared a dribbling mouthful of reviews to kick start things in the ass. And I'll be posting those soon, real soon. I'm just making adjustments and finalizing some format to make things look less honkier than they really are.

I'm talking about the perfect intercourse between two passions here, and I think I'm off to something real good.

And It will have syringes, too.

Technical Support Story #4: Some Common Misconceptions

**Or very wrong statements you get used to while doing technical support.

1. You need long distance services to be able to use the internet.
2. Numbers are case sensitive.
3. You access your email by putting your email address in the address bar of your internet browser.
4. Doing a double right click makes things going.
5. Windows XL is the latest Windows operating system.
6. Putting a potato near your DSL modem/router will help your wireless DSL signal.
7. Yes, I can see what you are doing.

The Trouble With a Three Month Hiatus

I call it the Blogger's On/Off Switch

hiatus (plural hiatus or hiatuses)

1. A break or pause.
2. A gap in a series, making it incomplete.

Taken from Wiktionary

1. Your readership begins to think that you are beginning to quit blogging.

2. Your traffic begins to slow down, your hits dwindle to an all time low, and your recent posts appear ignored since the comments aren't there anymore. Not as they used to.

3. Your internet presence grows weak. You want to reach out to your readership and make some lame excuse like "another life distracts you from blogging."

4. You go back after a two to three month absence only to find out that several people in your blog roll have decided to quit blogging altogether. It's either that or they're just beginning to take a break from it. Just like you did three months ago.

5. You find it hard to arouse your readership. See, your recent one post a month ratio these past three months make you easy to ignore. Most especially when, just recently, you're only bloghopping to solicit comments for your posts.

6. You begin to notice how pathetic your template looks like compared to those heavily updated and newly widget-ed blogs you used to visit. This makes for a great segue for number 7.

7. You begin to develop blog envy. That's penis envy for bloggers. This makes for a great segue for number 8.

8. You realize it's been three months, but you feel so left out and so last year.

9. You begin to think, in a fit of misguided righteous indignation, if you really regret going on a blog hiatus after all. But then you realize you're just saying that. You miss your folks alright. And you find out there's no changing that.

10. You realize that it's not how it used to be.

I Pity the Smoking Fool

I pity the fool who learned to smoke in the year 2000. This same fool had to quit school for a year because of some very stupid wreck. He had friends in the same boat. Misery loves company, but this company of fools decided to learn how to smoke. They learned this well, but trouble is, they elected to unlearn the quitting part of it.

I pity the fool who is now having problems controlling his addiction to ten sticks a day. He's now on his bad habit for seven years now, and he knows better than to sustain this addiction for another three years.

I pity the fool who has read somewhere that ten years of smoking is overly critical for any smoker who's been observing the habit with religious discipline. This fool refuses to verify that 10-year reference point on account of his digits could very well be wrong, and he's afraid that he might be smoking far longer than that.

I pity the fool who can't do much about his addiction but to blog about it.

Thank You So Much Bry!

I've never been featured in any other blogger's chapel. Except maybe for that one time in 2006 where my blogger's ass was so sore after being heavily fist-fucked by this one site. I'm cool with that though. Don't be hatin.

Bryan, bless his sweet soul, featured me in one of his recent posts. That was such a pleasant surprise, really, and I just died knowing I had a spot in one of his posts. I liked the feeling, really, beats the hell out of lubricating with vapo-rub.

He also wrote me this letter, too. Sigh, he can be a Care Bear, and I'll call him Gay Heart.

I So Rule

I just signed up for Technorati! I hope I get to increase my visibility with this.

Technorati Profile

Heartwarming-est Part 2

Now this is big. Thank you so much. Really.


I am reminded of the first time I was humbled by a similarly pleasant surprise. That was about a year ago, and I hope I never failed you guys. Thanks again!

Related Posts:
Heartwarming-est
Rob Meets Rob in Rob & The Blogosphere

I'll Write For You!

Hi, in an attempt to expand my readership and entertain your nagging need to open a can of lazy on your blog, I am now accepting requests to be your guest writer. What that means is that I will be more than happy to write you a blog post from time to time, of course given the proper heads up and the details, and you must know how I write it. It's your blog, I'm just guest writing, and I'd like it to be as clean as possible, no loose ends, for both parties involved.

What's in it for me? All I ask is that you link me back, introduce me a bit to your readership, props, snaps, and all that good jazz. Don't worry, I'm doing the public whoring for free. I just want to be re-introduced, is all.

And what's in it for you? First off, this offer, I think, should take you across those lazy weekends or whatnot when you feel like you've been spending too much time online. I'll give you a "reserve write-up" you can post at a later time when you don't have much to post yet. That ensures some sort of continuity, and a refreshing approach to writing at the very least.

You will need to contact me for the details, and then I'll post a comment in your latest post, or I might reply to the email itself. Whichever one's the more recent. Include the following when making a request:

1. What the post is all about
2. How you'd like me to talk about that post.
3. When you need the post itself. I check mail every two days or so.
4. Please include the words "Hi Momel, Blog Post Request" in the subject.
5. I'm only taking three requests per week.
6. I won't do your sponsored reviews.

My posts will be at least 100 words long. I may or may not include a picture, but bear in mind that I cuss from time to time, so we might have some of that.

This offer is almost exclusive to those people in my blog roll on account of I know what they write about. I've been frequenting their chapels with energetic vigor, or at least I used to, sorry about that, and I have this general idea of what they are about.

Just let me know if you are interested. Send the details to momel8@yahoo.com. Thanks!

I Am Now Quitting Blogging...

I know you all might think that this is too sudden. But I've thought about this really, and it is with inconsolable regret that I cry out this announcement:

I am now prepared to completely discontinue this blog. And I have just signed up for a bigger house.

This house:



Ha ha haaa! I kid, I kid. This is my house, and there's no leaving. Not when I have a whole plenty of ideas to pitch. I'll see you more!

Related Posts:
The Missing Blog Soup! Blog Soup #2: Smog, Posers, and More Posers

Thanks to Eric Agulto for the idea and the application form!

Gay Beauty Contests

Beauty pageants have always been a staple in Philippine comedy. Or on any type of comedy, for that matter, as long as the stupid catches you off guard.

This is no exception. I watched this local Gay Beauty Contest this one time last week, and it was remarkable for a lot of reasons. And here are some of those reasons.

HOST: Wow, Candidate Number One, you are so very tall! What's your height?
Gay Candidate #1: I'm 5'9.
HOST: That's very tall! I'm 5'11, and it's very hard for me to be tall. So, is it very hard for you too?
Gay Candidate #1: Yes, it's very hard for me too.

I didn't get it. I'm 5'10 myself and it's not so hard, see?

HOST: Candidate Number Four, your question is, What is your greatest fear?
Gay Candidate #4: Ladies and gentlemen, that's a very good question. And to answer that question, I must say that, in all honesty, my greatest fear is blushing. Because if I blush, then that means I'm afraid. And that's why its my greatest fear. Thank you.

Anyway, that host sports a very fake, trying hard English accent a la call-center-agent-in-training, maintains that Candidates #16, #18, and #23 all love to watch TV during their spare times, and calls it the swimswear competition.

That was a long night. Out of twenty four candidates, we were treated to three Angel Locsins, three Katrina Halilis, four Marian Riveras, and one Black Darna. Much like a gay 12 Days of Christmas.

Technical Support Story #3: The Latest Windows XP

It's all fun and games until this customer type comes along.

We're doing a virus scan.
ME: That scan might take some time, sir. How long have you been using this computer anyway?
CUSTOMER: Uhmm, today.
ME: No, all your life?

Twenty minutes later and he wants to download a support program for his DSL connection. We went as far as the Download Page.
CUSTOMER: What do I do now?
ME: Tell me, what clickable options do you have in that webpage?
CUSTOMER: Well, there's Download _____ Tool... for Windows XP/2000 users, click here... for Windows vista users, click here...
ME: Oh okay. So which Windows do you have?
CUSTOMER: The latest.
ME: So you have VISTA?
CUSTOMER: Windows XP.
ME: Okay. So you mentioned a DOWNLOAD LINK or button for Windows XP users, right?
CUSTOMER: Yes.
ME: Can you try clicking on that button?
CUSTOMER: How about this one says Vista?
ME: No, that won't help.
CUSTOMER: So I click on this one here says XP?
ME: Sure, let's try that.
CUSTOMER: Oh there you go!
ME: Good job.
CUSTOMER: You're so very patient!
ME: Thanks. I know.

They Don't Have to be Alive, See?

I once wrote this post about the death of one of the people in my Friendster list. He was an offline friend, of course, and we had that specific network to keep in touch. But then he died, and freaky became him in my list, and my network now moonshines as an obituary of sorts.

I still have him in my list though.


Things became freakier when I found out that he's still logging in to his account. And then his Friendster Profile became some online OUIJA board which requires a login.

I was thinking he probably left his Friendster username and password in some over the top Last Will and Testament. But really, what's the point? It's not him updating his profile from his death on, recent testimonials are now eulogies, and what do you say to a dead guy via Friendster anyway?

I went on ahead and dropped him a simple hello just for the hell of it.

In case you missed it, here's the link:
Should you delete a dead friend from your Friendster list?

Technical Support Story #2: Blogs Make People Paranoid

There was this woman who saw her IP in her sister-in-law's blog. She didn't know it, but she was referring to one of those cutesy blogging tools for props. She then calls us to complain that she's being hacked, and she'd like us to do something about it.

How do you imply "Ma'am, aren't we being a little paranoid today?"

I'm Not Ready to Prostitute My Blog

I was commissioned to review a porn site. It was supposed to go here, in this here post that you're reading right now, but I just don't have enough words.

See, I tend to be a little involved with what I'm writing, so much so that it gets a little over the top sometimes. Apologetically, I elected to disclose the depths of my kinky in a more, shall we say, inspired post. I find it difficult to express carnal details if it were in a mandatory context. I'm already dribbling with bad taste. Reviewing a porn site would be overkill.

It's money for sex. Or sex talk. So how far removed is that from prostitution when the exchange of power exists as some defiling catalyst?

I hope you'd understand why you're not reading some sort of published masturbation right now.

Technical Support Story #1: To Spam or Not to Spam?

I do technical support as some kinky night job, and you have no idea how some calls just make it worth the long nights. Let me share some of those stories beginning with this post on.

I was walking this caller, he was this guy with a rasping low voice, through customizing the SPAM PROTECTION in his Yahoo inbox. He has no problems at all following directions, and his inbox was almost completely SPAM PROOF within minutes.

I went on ahead and gave him examples of which email messages to look out for. So I told him, "No sir, you don't want that VIAGRA mail. Let's go on ahead and check that to MARK it as SPAM."

And then there was silence. About ten to fifteen seconds of it. I just had to put the phone on mute after realizing that he must be having second thoughts.

Beggars Can't be Choosers Part 4: This Sort of Put Things in Perspective, Doesn't It?

I might not seem like it, but I'm a mathematician by virtue of academic training. I conquered complex numbers and I braved probability, statistics, and trigonometric equations. I challenged the complex sorceries of geometry with the pi as my excalibur, I rallied numbers in their natural, real, and rational metamorphoses, and I crusaded to determine the time at which trains A and B will meet as they travelled X number of miles from each other.

I recited the Pythagorean theorem like a mantra.

I know my mathematics. And I know my equations. But how in the world does anyone make this out?



Here in the Philippines, a girl no more than 11 years past her childhood conceded to suspending herself in mid air with nothing but a tight-enough cord around her neck to support her weight. This, in turn, blocks all possible circulation of oxygen to her brain as it chokes her well enough to kill her. That, of course, was the original plan all along, and, given her eleven defeated years, alarmed us of a message which was beyond worrisome.

She killed herself out of poverty.

Yes, the clarity of the message is striking, but its not something that I'm ready to accept. She's no more than 12. And she killed herself because she was poor. There's no rhyme or reason to it, but that's just me talking, and I know that I'm just not prepared to take things as they are.

I pray for you, Mariannet Amper. Your message was obvious, and you stressed that enough.

"Thanks" would've been appropriate, but painfully tactless and altogether cold blooded. But seriously, may you be given the peace and comfort that this life never afforded you.

Hello!

I reckon I did a good job of pulling myself together after all this uncalled for abstinence from blogging. Hello friends, I am back.

Yes, I might be at a loss for words right now on account of I often post preparedly, but look at how good I steal my images just to make a point!

Oh, and feel free to navigate through the shitting bull dropdown to your right. I take it most of my you guys from way back might recall that wonderful chunkiness. It's nuttier this time though, and runnier at that, since I've updated it with all of my posts to date!

You know how I love to make life easier for your clickers. And speaking of which, pray be most generous with those Ads. He hee, I'm sexier now, see?

Old People Don't Make Singit

They usually don't, but this old bitch in the drugstore did. My inner scandalous pig, brother to my inner child and my inner asshole, was applauding with glee as she cut the line after me. There was well about five, six people behind me, and she did took the time to scan the growing queue. And like the underlearned role model of today's growingly hopeless youth, she cut the line behind me while no one was looking.

Her timing was perfect.

Of course, I was expecting nothing short of a scandal to happen, but I continued getting bored as the same idle waiting continued. I'm not sure if the people behind me noticed, they probably did, but this old bitch jumped ahead of five, six people and got away with it.

I know people like me probably sucked in this situation but, I was thinking, she probably lead a long life, so why let her wait?

I soo missed you all.

Should you delete a dead friend from your Friendster list?

The last time I saw him was in Teriyaki Boy in the Mega Strip. We were, like, four tables away, and I was just so involved with my lunch that I elected to stay put and just greet him later. Hunger pangs do that, you know. I remember them calling the waiter, so they probably haven't ordered yet. I was thinking that I'll probably approach them later, after I've had lunch. But this heavy lunch was followed immediately by a couple of cigarettes, and since the air was so perfect outside, we decided to freshen out and smoke for another thirty minutes.

I never got to approach him. But then, I reckoned I'd just "make kuwento" the next time I saw him. Or maybe I'd just send him a quick message in Friendster and try to catch up on things. Not entirely personal, and not very warm at the very least, but at least it goes to show that I'm trying to keep in touch.

That message never happened. I was just so busy with my offline life that signing in to any of my online activities became the least of my concerns. Turns out that I'll have no chance to say hello at all. It was a few weeks since I last saw him that I learned of his death in a car accident. He didn't die from the accident itself, but he died from the internal injuries brought about by this terrible collision.

I didn't say hello when I had the chance. And, like the irresponsible friend that I am, I never went to his funeral at all. Maybe because I didn't know what to make of this situation which I never thought possible. But for the most part, I dreaded the thought of seeing any of my friends in a coffin.

Fast forward to almost two years today, and he's still in my Friendster list. But I guess there's still no point in sending him that message. I don't think they have Friendster from where he is right now.

My Feminine Side is Very Sensitive

My nipples are my only feminine side. Everything else is gayer than pink leather pants.

Call it erogenous or downright plain-as-hell kinky, but you see, things just don't get any clearer than that.

Of course, you must understand that this is big coming from an admittedly gay guy so out of the closet. No, not my nipples. This admission, that is, and this begins to grow steadily lamer as it reveals itself to be a badly punchlined one-liner.

And yes, for that matter, I still keep in touch with my feminine side. Most especially during those kinkier alone moments.

Bashing Homophobes

**Here's what I wrote as a response to this gay bashing faggot doing business in a gay thread. In a gay oriented website. On a very gay day, I take it.

You know what your problem is? You're much too concerned with what other people think.

I'm thinking that your life revolves around satisfying other people's perception of you. And that is just dull. And pointless. And totally defines a certain "lack of character" specific to gutless invertebrates like yourself. Are you telling me that you're prioritizing the satisfaction of other people as opposed to your own personal gratification. Ain't that dull?

You probably invented this term. And I wish you hell for whatever it's worth.

You're gay and you know it. How old are you anyway? Are you telling me that you're going to live under the comfort of your gay-bashing shell for the rest of your life? That sucks. You're probably going to be one of those gay guys who gets married not because they want to but because they have to. For show. And we're talking about the same gay guys who commit to their homosexuality in the long run, therefore leaving an unhappy wife and a family in disorder. We're talking about the same gay guys who feel like they've been missing out on all this cocksucking gay goodness since they were too busy bashing faggots in their youth. We're talking about you.

You hate gay people with the balls to admit to their sexuality, and yet, simultaneously, you're praying for total acceptance of the third sex here in our country? Don't you think you're wishing for too much? And why in gay hell would you want to have open-mindedness towards homosexuality? Isn't that the same luxury most gay guys are praying for with religious discipline?

Of course.

Your posts are aimless. You're jumping from one argument to another. No, scratch that, you're not jumping, you're "hopping" on account of you seem to be changing your mind in a heartbeat. You're a fickle-minded closet queen easily swayed by the next argument that everybody seems to be agreeing upon. But it makes perfect sense. You know why? Because you're much too concerned with what other people think.

You get a life, get yourself a cock to suck, and tell me you didn't enjoy it.

Remembering Obsessions

**I'm sure you guys have those little things that kept you busy at one point. Games and hobbies which made you eight years old again for at least a day or two. And then you went on ahead to graduate to better pre-occupations; you learned to masturbate. And what you have left, in the wake of your increasingly horny preoccupations, next to your growing collection of porn, is this boxful of boardgames and pretty pictures in little cards, stashed away to double as pretty dust collectors with sentimental value.

1. Magic the Gathering = This refreshes my memory as a mathematician in training. My battlefield was Lopez Canteen in UST, somewhere in P. Noval. It's got nerds and geeks and a good serving of male stink. Ahhh, what fresh hell is this?

2. Monopoly = It's a childhood memory associated with noisy scheming. Add a little bit of trash talking, some money laundering, and a whole hell of red tape, and you've got this two to three hour race to conquer Park Avenue. Honestly, that Amazing Race stint has got nothing on us.

3. Bingo = We don't bet much, but we're praying like it's the freaking lottery. Plus, it moonshines as a refresher to what pop culture we have left.

4. Console Gaming = I still remember how you get the thirty lives in Super Contra and the hundred lives in Super Mario Brothers. Last game I played was Final Fantasy 12 at home, and I'm actually thinking of tattooing the symbols in the Playstation D-Pad.

I was evolving my Pokemon Mankey into a Primeape on the GBA this last New Year's Eve. And it did on the first fifteen minutes of 2007.

5. Nope, no Barbie dolls in this gay guy's childhood.

Sing a Song of Flouride

**Oh how you wished it happened, but it might never will.

You know how it felt like, when the fx driver detours and gets his tank pumped while you're already a minute away from being late? And you go on ahead and kicked his teeth in?

You know how it felt like, when those social climbing call center trainees sashay their fake accents while trying to ask for sukli from the manong driver? And you went on ahead and kicked their teeth in?

You know how it felt like, when, just recently, somewhere in the news, a reluctant mother tries to bury her hour-old kid prematurely? And you went on ahead and kicked her teeth in?

You know how it felt like, when Mr FX Driver suddenly draws inspiration from this violent urge to drive with a deathwish? And you went on ahead and kicked his teeth in?

You know how it felt like, when, you are Edu Manzano spearheading the anti-piracy campaign for the Optical Media Board? You just kick your teeth in.

Cheers for strong and healthy teeth.

Rub Yourself the Right Way

**Ego boosting accomplishments

1. I know how it feels like to live on my own. I support myself. I feed myself. And I look up to no one else. If this doesn't spell total independence, I wouldn't know what does.

2. I know how it feels like to have championed a nine ball tournament. Twice. In a row.

3. I know how it feels like to maintain this blog.

4. I know how it feels like to emcee an event celebrated by three different call centers. That means I emerged in a sea of trying hard caucasian sounding wannabes. I used to be, back then, the best sounding faker there was.

5. I know how it feels like to live in love. And I know how it feels like to be introduced to the parent.

Beggar's Can't Be Choosers Part 3: Shit Kings of Turd Mountain

It was mentioned not so long ago that the Philippines bagged the Top Spot in this survey made to determine Asia's Most Corrupt Countries.

We made it to the top!

That means we can corrupt anything we set our minds to. Nothing can possibly get in the way of our campaign to violate public faith. We piss at procedure and shit on protocol. We out-corrupted nine other countries to revel in such infamy...

And don't act so surprised. You live here.

Beggars Can't be Choosers Part 2: When Is Rockclimbing Downhill?

Suggested Titles:

1. Somebody Beat Them To It Half a Decade Ago
2. What Can Be More Sooo Long Ago Than Ice Climber?
3. When Is Rockclimbing Downhill?

Once upon a time, there was this brown crew of attention whores who braved Mt. Everest.

End of story.

Dull? I know.

Newsflash: First to climb to summit: Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay on May 29, 1953.

It's not like they went there first. See, I really don't get all this glamour with the first group of Filipino climbers to brave the peaks of Mt Everest. It's not as fun as the first time it was challenged half a century ago, and the unnecessary publicity goes to show just how inadequate we are.

We were so busy with their glory that we might have forgotten one minor detail: It took us fifty years to challenge Everest. That's fifty years too late, and that's saying a lot if it comes from somebody with severe punctuality issues like myself.

We might as well take pride in being the only country that refused to climb Everest. How about that? That would have meant something else, but certainly never the fact that it took us that many years to climb Everest. Not that anybody will care to notice, but think of that as us doing a whole plenty of misleading.

See, we could've been the only country that didn't give a fuck care.

I'm sure they think they're pretty impressive, but I don't give a fuck think they're pretty impressive care. I personally don't care. I seriously don't. See, there's not much of an achievement in something that everybody's been doing, not in front of the camera for the most part, for the last fifty years now.

But then again, these Filipino mountain climbers didn't mind getting famous. They're taking in the glory, or the popularity wherever they can get it.

I guess beggars can't be choosers.

And yeah, I know this one's waaay overdue. I mean, do any of you actually remember anyone from that supposedly "historical" breakthrough? Yeah, I figgered just as much.

http://www.philippine-everest.com/

Same Shirt. Three Persons. And what happens to a joke when you're introducing that with the punchline?

Now here's the kicker: I came across a THIRD person wearing the same shirt on the same day. See, isn't the same green bad enough when two people are wearing it at the same time. And just when you're trying real hard not to be seen in the same room as the other guy, you stumble upon a third person wearing the same shirt as the two of you already are.

Luckily, I was keeping a spare jacket in my locker. No, I don't think it was purely by luck. A cool cat like my person keeps provisions in case of fashion emergencies. And provisions, in this situation is a spare jacket in my locker. I was wearing it immediately after the panic has lost it's appeal.

But then again, is it even proper to call it a fashion emergency when we were simply three people who shared the same good taste in green shirts. I'm not campaigning for politically correct shit-shit or anything. I mean, how was I supposed to forecast something as terrible as the same shirt with two other people anyway? If anything, it was simply a case of bad timing.

I'm just glad it's just a shirt. It would have been a smellier mess if it was the same boyfriend on three persons.

On account of I don't keep a spare boyfriend. I'll need a bigger locker for that.

My Three Wisemen Drove Metered Camels

This was something I wrote in between Christmas and New Year's Eve of last year 2005.

You know how sometimes our cab drivers would start with an unending monologue of unsolicited opinion? You're right there at the passenger seat, trying to breathe out stress from the day's work, wanting to get home in the quickest time possible with the loudest prayers for an uneventful drive. You're beginning to chill to some easy music in the background, and the air conditioning's working it's magic to get you relaxed. Then, just when you're almost all settled in, the driver turns the radio off, smiles back at you, and begins his first attempt at small talk.

It's not exactly rude, since there were still small semblances of a polite approach. And you can't really blame the poor guy. I mean, he's alone and probably friendless in his small office. And with all that travelling, you better believe that he's seen a lot of ugly BS that he just wants to get out of his system. Drivers are people too, and just like everyone else with a bad case of the shits, they just want to talk those out to the next available pair of ears. Which happened to belong to the passenger they're taking home. Which happened to belong to me for the time being.

I never mentioned in my resume that I am a people person since I clearly am not. I like people, but I like them better when they leave me alone. But I've come to realize that these drivers just needed somebody to talk to. I used to think that there must be something in me that attracts unwanted conversation. Turns out they're just bored for the most part.

Wiseman number one I met in the morning of Christmas Eve. He had a parasitic lesbian daughter with a heavy attitude problem. He was okay with her being a lesbian, but he was ferociously crusading against her being a 24 year old bum. He says, "Okay lang na mag-uwi siya ng babae tapos itira sa amin, pero yung ako pa ang aasahan niya na gumastos sa kanilang dalawa? Malaki na siya, naipag-aral ko naman, pero sobrang tamad at saksakan pa ng yabang. Wala sa lugar."

"Nahihiya na nga ako minsan sa may-ari nitong taxi. Dami nang bangga nito sa kin, pero kailangang kapalan ang mukha dahil ito trabaho ko eh. Ako lang ang kumikita sa min, tapos aangasan pa ko ng anak kong babaero. Yung tomboy."

I braced myself for more Gulong ng Palad material, sat still and shut my piehole. I don't really know how I can use this unnecessary information, but for some reason... "ay teka, bababa na ko. Here, manong, keep the change. "

I gave him eighty pesos for a ride worth 77.50.

Driver number two: "Sabi kanina nung pasahero ko, ang bagong pamahiin daw eh kailangan yung prutas ay walang itim na buto. Malas yun. Tapos kailangan eh pagulungin mo ng walong beses sa lamesa para tuloy tuloy ang pasok ng suwerte sa buong taon. Ako dati ang alam ko eh okay na yung puro bilugang prutas ang nasa lamesa, yun lang eh su-suwertehin ka na buong taon. Pero dati yun. Tingnan mo yung mga yan (points to nearby stalls selling new year's day props and merchandise), anong oras na pero andami pa ring ititinda. (It was roughly around seven in the morning) Wala mashadong nagbibilihan ngayon eh. Sa hirap ba naman ng buhay natin eh, kailangan mo talagang magtipid at gumawa ng paraan para magkapera. Di mo yan ia-asa sa mga bilugang prutas na walang itim na buto."

You know what, manong, you ought to go and start a blog or something. Or maybe even your own ministry. You're a freaking fountain of wisdom.

Driver number three: (started the ball rolling with) "Diyan ka na nagbagong taon sa opisina? (Smiles) Anghirap din minsan lalo't lumaki ka na pamilya mo ang kasama mong nagbabagong taon. Malungkot."

"Alam mo ba kung ano ang pinaka-importanteng bagay sa mga Hapon (Japanese)? Trabaho nila, tapos pumapangalawa lang ang asawa nila. Aba, katwiran nila eh pag maganda nga naman ang trabaho mo eh kahit ilang asawa pa ang kunin mo. Kakayanin mo pang pumili. Di na nga ako nagtataka kung bakit pag napapanood ko sa TV eh sa MRT na sila nakakatulog, nakatayo pa yun ah habang nakakapit doon sa sabit. Kailangan nilang pumasok eh. Importante sa kanila yung trabaho nila. Ganoon kahirap ang buhay ngayon, di gaya nung panahon ni Marcos."

(Marcos... Marcos... whenever I hear that name, something tells me that this is going to take some time. And maybe some microwavable popcorn.)

"Nagsimula na naman yang mga manghuhula na yan kanina, sabi nila na mas matindi raw ang demonstrasyon laban kay Gloria ngayong taon. Ganyan naman palagi eh, pababagsakin nila't pababagsakin yung mga nakaupo diyan, tapos ganun din gagawin nila sa susunod nilang iha-halal. Hindi rin naman ako naniniwala sa mga hula hula na yan, pero wala namang mawawala sa iyo diba? Palagay ko, hindi malabong tsumamba yang mga manghuhula na yan ngayong taon."