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.

How to be Rude: Comments

**This post is also known as How to Bash Tip # 1: Divide and Conquer. 

So we heard recently that a second sex video of Chito Miranda and Neri Naig surfaced. I have never seen it. And I will never watch it. I was tempted to, but I remembered how disappointed I was with Chito's fucking that I decided to just let it be. The first installment wasn't any excitable; Chito Miranda's black-as-sin dick was an awful nightmare, and Neri Naig's pendulous breasts were a felony to the female anatomy. However, I would imagine that some people jerked off to this episode while they played one of his songs in the background for good measure. Whatever. 

I will not write about it. These celebrity sex videos are becoming so fucking tiresome in their frequency. And what makes it irritating is that they're all sex between straight couples. How very bland, how very boring, how very beyond scandalous. What have our gay celebrities been doing? Playing Barbie dolls and doing each other's hair? Cruising at the gym or pandering to the horny whims of your TV-executive benefactors? Get out of your comfort zone, homo. We can use the representation.

I have written about Chito Miranda's first sex video. And you can click here you're interested. 

Meanwhile, the last time I trolled was five or six years ago, and I sort of missed being mean to stupid people and their stupid bitch fits. So I gave it another go sometime back, and, having done that, I don't think I missed being a bully at all. Anyway, allow me to share a screenshot. Sometimes, a series of pictures is far more eloquent. You remember what they say about a picture being worth a thousand words? Yeah? Now think about this: what if... it's a picture... of words? Ahhh. Imagine that many thousands. 

Again, I do not miss being such a jerk towards other people's poorly written sentiments, and I fucking hate being so disrespectful in their borrowed space. It sucks that I have to go out of my way just to be a dick. That is why I have this blog. And being such a cock in other people's territory is a felony towards this blog; why be a dick in other territories when  I can well do it here?

Comments are just one of the many wonderful opportunities for your meanness to shine. Treat yourself to these other tips.

How to be Rude: Books
How to be Rude: Burgers
How to be Rude: Directions

Lemuel

**I think you guys should meet him. He was one of my earlier posts that actually had comments, he's a favorite among my two offline readers, and he reminds me of the earlier days. Presented for your orgasmic pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, that endearing idiot telemarketer, Lemuel.

**A funny thing happened to me one time last September of 2004. I spoke with an actual telemarketer!The sales call was nothing I would observe myself, it losing out on the finer points of telemarketing, but I remembered it well enough to be able to transcribe it minutes after I dropped the phone on this Lemuel guy. He hee, if you've been in the telemarketing industry for more than a year now, sales agents like Lemuel aren't the type you'd usually forget. The bottomline was that he wasn't good at all, and that's an easy understatement. He sounded like he was courting the household help, I mean, he sounded like the Filipino equivalent of a redneck. He doesn't know what he's saying, and he sounded so friggin' boring, I wondered why I listened to him while he was delivering his sales pitch.

Maybe I did it for the novelty of my first telemarketing call. But if anything, this was hilarious.


Lemuel: Puwede po ba kay Rommel Tullao? Si Lemuel po ito, sa PLDT.

Me: Si Rommel ito, bakit, anong problema? (Yeah, so it's Rommel all along.)

Lemuel: Tanong ko lang po kung may picture na kayo sa PLDT?

Me: Picture? Anong picture? Bakit kailangan ng picture sa PLDT? ID ba yan? Ilalagay sa billing statement?

Lemuel: Hindi po. Pictures po para sa PLDT, yun bang call wait, call fo-ward, tsaka speed dial. (Oh, he was talking about features. Unbelievable. He spoke like he was right all along.)

Me: ("Is this a sales call?!?" was the thing which came to mind.) Ahhh, wala pa. Pwede bang paki-explain yon, hindi ko alam yun eh. (Of course, I was trying to get the most of my first sales call. I used to be a telemarketer myself.) Yung call wait, alam ko iyon, meron kami noon eh. Eh ano naman yung call forward?

Lemuel: Yung call fo-ward kasi ganito yun eh, parang ano lang yun, kuwan. Teka lang ha. (At this point, he puts down the phone, and the following conversation was heard in the background:)

Lemuel: HOY, NONG! Ano ba ulit yung, ano ba yun, yung call fo-warding? Eh pinapapaliwanag nitong kausap ko eh!

Man in a VERY Loud Voice: SABI-HEN mo, yung call fo-ward, ano lang yun, halimbawa, may pupuntahan siyang birthday, tapos ano, TEKA NGA!(This man with the loud voice then picked up the phone, and I found myself talking with him.)

MAN: Hello, ikaw ba yung kausap ni Lemuel?

Me: Opo (Duh). Ano ho ba ulit yung call forwarding? (I was having fun at this point already.)

MAN: Kasi ganito yun, halimbawa, may pupuntahan kang birthday, tapos walang maiiwan sa inyo, edi ang gawin mo, i-call fo-ward mo yung telepono mo para doon mo na lang sasagutin sa birthday.

Me: Aaah, eh pa'no kung walang telepono sa pupuntahan kong birthday?

Man: Ehhh, pakabitan natin. Pero kuha mo na yung call fo-ward, ha ser?

Me: Oo, okay na.

Man: Ehhh, teka lang ha. (He then puts the phone down, and started shouting in the background, "HOY Lemuel, okay na. Eto na 'o!" Moments later, a familiar dull voice was heard on the other line.)

Lemuel: Okay na ser?

Me: Oo, okay na. Eh ano naman yung speed dial, ha?

Lemuel: Ganito lang po yun ser. Yung speed dial eh ano lang, magpipindot kalang ng number tapos makakadial ka na.

Me: Niloloko mo ata ako eh! Eh siyempre ganoon talaga yun para maka-dial, pipindutin mo siyempre yung mga number!

Lemuel: Hindi po ganoon yun. (Mali na naman ako. Kasi naman eh.) Ibig sabihin, isang number lang yung pipindutin mo para imbes na (He starts counting softly.)para imbes na pitong number eh isang number na lang yung ida-dial mo.

Me: Teka, call center ba ito?

Lemuel: Hindi po, PLDT po ito. Sa OPSIM (or something), dito po sa San Joaquin (Pasig).

Me: Eh paano ko malalaman na PLDT ka nga?

Lemuel: Punta po kayo dito. Dito po kami sa tapat ng...(I cut him off.)

Me: HA? Pinapapunta mo ako diyan? Teka, magkano naman yung tatlong features na iyan ha?
Lemuel: Ano po, P59.75 lang kada buwan. Fixed na ho iyon. (I'm not sure if it was 59.75 or 59.25, I forgot that part).

Me: Puwede ko namang i-cancel pag ayoko na? (You have no idea how I wanted to be the one to cancel something over the phone!)

Lemuel: Opo, kayo naman magbabayad noon eh.

Me: Tapos, doon na lang siya lalabas sa billing statement, diba?

Lemuel: Opo.

Me: Tapos, kailan siya maa-activate ha, Lemuel?

Lemuel: Tatlong araw pa ho, kaya malamang sa Lunes.

Me: So, anong kailangan mo ngayon? (He wasn't using a script, I think.)

Lemuel: Kelan birthday mo?

Me: BAKIT MO NAMAN TINATANONG ANG BIRTHDAY KO?

Lemuel: Eh, kailangan po eh. (Why can't I use that in my telemarketing rebuttals?)

Me: (I wanted to humor him.) O sige, August 8.

Lemuel: Akina na yung SSS number mo.

Me: HA? Pati ba iyon?

Lemuel: Kailangan po eh.

Me: Naku eh, nasa office ID ko, hindi ko maalala. Tawagan mo na lang ako sa Lunes para maibigay ko sa iyo, okay?

Lemuel: Wala ho sa inyo ngayon?

Me: Tawagan mo na lang ako sa Lunes.

Lemuel: O sige po. Babay.


This was my first ever sales call, and I was intrigued by the many similarities between his call and my sales scripts. Of course, I was a little... refined as "Ben Tumbling," that being my American name, but I appreciated the way he wanted to answer all my questions. He was a little crude and all that, but with a little training, I'm sure he'll do good.

So what happened to Lemuel, anyway? He never called back.

what the fuck, What the Fuck, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING ANDREW E?

**I ain't no grammatical great myself, but at least kids aren't reading me. And the TV's turned ALL THE WAY up when I was doing my research because I wanted no room for mistakes.

He was once this celebrity judge in a local talent show, and he's more popular now, at least in my book, because he gave ass kissing a most unprecedented low. He was a celebrity because he's the poor man's MC Hammer, the local champion of dirty hip hop (and by dirty, I mean unwashed), and he reached celebrity status because he rapped his wet dreams. I grew up listening to these songs. Poor fucking me.

So he's this celebrity judge in a local talent show, and how it goes is that them judges are subject to "eviction." Text and audience votes are tallied at the end of the week, and anybody with more than 25% of the votes will be evicted. So what Mr. E does (E for Espiritu, the dude has his own Wikipedia page, believe it or not) is that he does everything in his Hiphop Powers to flatter flattery to such flattering flats. His comments are nothing more than generic pats on the back, and his ten-week tenure as a guest judge meant that his brown nosing paid off. In a major way.

It can be argued that he knows what he's doing, but he's such a goddam phony about it. He's not much of a judge as he is a kiss ass businessman; he's making easy money out of flattering people, and he knows its an easy job. Plus, airtime Is airtime, bad publicity is still publicity; he just needs to stay there to flatter some more, because the more he flatters, the longer he stays.

He remained a judge for ten weeks. He was actually inducted to the Showtime Judges Hall of Fame. They actually Have a Hall of Fame! It's right there in their Wikipedia page. They actually Have a Wikipedia page! I don't mind that; the show's fantastic.

Now the trouble I'm having with Andrew E as a guest judge in such a widely received show is that his comments are stupid grammatical piles of shit. Really, impressionable people are watching this show, and Mr E is spearheading their miseducation with his rotten English, I should know, I did my research, and here's a fine sampling of Mr. E's erroneous ways:

1. "Very one in unison" (how's that for redundant)
2. "Pinaka-okay sa akin yung 'Alzheimer's Effect' ni kuya." (Translation: "I think his 'Alzheimer's Effect' is way okay!" And he was referring to some elbow trick by this Cebuano dancer, but Alzheimer's Effect? This shit is so unhinged, I couldn't make this up myself.)
3. "Mind everybody when I say this." (This was before he made his comment. What's with minding everybody?)
4. "Nabilang ko na apat na beses nagpalakpakan yung mga tao kanina. Palakpakan naman diyan!" (Translation: "I counted, and the audience clapped their hands four times earlier. Clap your hands everybody!" They're probably tired already.)
5. "May I say, and I do say, you're a hard act to follow!" (So which is it?)
6. "Sino ang gimmick master niyo?" (Translation: "Who's your gimmick master?")
7. "Ilang taon siya? Fourteen? It's not her time and yet naisayaw niya ng maayos." (Translation: "How old is she? Fourteen? It's not her time and yet she was able to dance that well.")
8. "Pulidong pulido ang costume at ang design ay parang sa aboriginals." (Translation: "The costume's so fine, and the design is so aboriginal." He was referring to a zebra-print leotard.)
9. "You are a very very total creation." (Something's very very amiss.)
10. "Effect na effect ang energy ninyo." (Translation: "Your energy is very much in effect?" Help.)
11. "In all due fairness..."
12. "Your dance moves are, shall I say, split to the second."
13. "Your animosity is too high!" (When asked to define animosity, he says its something about facial expressions. Are they too high?"

A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 1

I just finished a very delicious volume of some of Guy de Maupassant's more interesting short stories. I knew it was a delightful find right off the bat on account of I've been reading the guy since 1993. Yes, it was that long ago, and it was some of his very simple works which glued that long name to memory.
He's this French writer, dubbed as one of the Fathers of Short Stories, who writes with a twisted appetite for tragedy in its very simple presentations.

He seals his stories from spoling; he avoids happy endings as much as he can. He has nothing against killing the main character in a heartbeat, as you would a candle after a power outage. He speaks of lost and unrequited love, of betrayal, of revenge, and he does it well, so well that he makes you root for his characters however pathetic they are right off the get go.

He strings his adjectives so effectively, it takes but a few to design, in creating a mental picture, his specific brand of sadness. He makes you root for a prostitute, he makes you feel sympathetic towards a dying old horse, he makes fun of the new found poverty of a middle aged couple, and he does it well with a deceptive plot so brilliantly engineered you'll never guess what happens next.

He lived for 43 years, and he masterpieced around 300 short stories in his lifetime. He sufferred a sexually transmitted disease towards the collapse of his sanity with his confinement in an institution for the mentally abandoned. He's horny, and he died in a nuthouse, but he wrote so freaking well he inspired me to write him something in return.

Related Posts:
A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 2

A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 2

I wrote in a recent post, in a gratuitous inspiration to kiss ass, the brilliant mind that is Guy de Maupassant. He is decidedly one of those authors I pay the most attention to. Too bad he's dead, and he died in a loony bin with raging syphilis to match. However, it is these little details that caused the attraction towards a magnificent writer, however dead, who was both horny and inspirational at the same time.

Here's a sampling of some of his works.

1. Ball of Fat

This here tells the story of Ball of Fat, a spirited prostitute, who suffers the betrayal of the same people she fed and redeemed from confinement. It was about some of the saddest fifty pages.

2. Vendetta

An old widow avenges the death of her only son with the help of his old dog Semillante. She starves the poor animal until it's frenetic. This was, however, the beginning of his training.

3. The Necklace

A woman borrows a necklace of imperial value only to lose it and the end of the day. Distraught, she surrenders herself to poverty in order to redeem her precious loss. The necklace has been paid for in full after she suffers ten years of very meager provisions. She then finds out at the end of ten years that it was fake to begin with.

4. The Mad Woman

A rich woman turns mad and locks herself up in her manor for several years, conceding her survival and nourishment to the care and services of her maids and help. War invades their territory, and the Prussians take over her property. She's left in the woods with nothing and no one but her cushioned bed to protect her from the stinging cruelty of winter, and she was never heard of again.

5. A Sale

A man sells his wife using her volume in water displaced from a large tub as currency. She thinks he's trying to drown her, presents this attempt at murder in the court of law, and he gets away with a reprimand.

Related Links:
A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 1

The Best Part of New Years is Not the Resolutions

No, its not the resolutions on account of nobody keeps them anyway. Resolutions are the in thing for the last few minutes of the expiring year, and so last year after the first few hours of the fresh year. Never make crappy resolutions you know full well, in your sleep, you'll be violating in a heartbeat. No, don't say you'll quit smoking because, unlike a hole in the head, that will never happen. No, you'll not lose weight. You're packing in two holidays worth of calories, and your losing weight, unlike a hole in the head, will never happen. No, don't say that you're keeping your resolutions this year with such finality because, unlike a hole in the head, that will never happen.

A heart attack is final. Your resolutions aren't.

That's a really lousy way to kick start the year. So stop making resolutions. Of course, in what might be a flash of tired inspiration, you can resolve to never writing resolutions no more. But that's crazy stupid, and totally nonterminating in itself because it is absolutely, big word alert, nose bleeding PARADOXICAL.

(Grins in satisfaction, I am so smart i'm using a very big word like PARADOXICAL)

According to Dictionary.com,
This makes for a great segue for yet another reference to philosophy. I'm referring, grinning wider in total satisfaction because I'm so suddenly smarter, to the Liar Paradox. Go crazy.





Altogether now. I swear to make no New Years resolutions no more.

Additional Credits:
Wikipedia

The Best Part of New Years is Not the Food

The Best Part of New Years is not the food on account of most people will be dirt poor from all that Christmas materialism anyway. They're probably serving Christmas leftovers for New Years, maybe add a few round fruits for superstition, and they're all set. Of course that spells C-H-E-A-P-A-S-S, decidedly, but its very possible that your neighbors are drinking eggnog and eating ham and cheese to usher in the New Year.

I am now reminded of one New Year's Post I wrote last year.

The Best Part of New Years is the Surgery

I have decided, in a heartbeat, to let my loser self spend New Year's Eve at work, tired and with a bad sense of longing to celebrate as we are doing technical support. That's a singularly unhappy thing on the whole. And it really isn't a matter of perspective on account of, sour grape alert, other equally employed people are blessed with the chance to usher in the New Year shit faced, pot bellied, and hopefully, surgery free.

Of course, I can choose to refer to some overworked excuse to skip work like diaria, diarhea, the shits and participate in the loud festivities. But I am singularly jumpy, and I curse easy over a firecracker anywhere in my breathing space. So I choose to celebrate in a very quiet environment with double pay, and delight in the following pictures of mangled severity.







Happy New Year to You! May you have fun welcoming the New Year and the celebration's universal appeal regardless of your time zone.

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.

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!

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.

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."

Beggars Can't Be Choosers Part 1: We Were Pool Players First

**I'm writing this as a very subjective pool player verging dangerously in between waaay-too-pissed-to-even-fake-flattery and too-headstrong-to-practice-eloquence.

Ronnie Alcano won the world pool championship early this November 2006. One commentator mentioned that the Philippines was the Pool Capital of Asia.It was never that publicized. An accomplishment of global proportions wasn't that publicized. I mean, compared to this one Filipino dude who outpunched this other Mexican loser (one for team spirit), Ronnie Alcano's victory shrivelled like a nutsack in December.

Manny Pacquiao defeated Erik Morales two weeks following Alcano's world title in a humiliating match that sealed Morales' fate easy on the third round. This, in turn, released a floodgate of incoming endorsements and unnecessary worship which included plans for his very own statue to stand along Baywalk.

And much like a certain testicular abnormality, it's just as unequal.

I, for one, am not looking forward to it, but he will have his own monument real soon.

It is excessive. And I guess that's the nearest we can get to being true to form. See, an over-the-top display like this relieves us of the practicality that a country as poor as ours should be practicing.

Manny Pacquiao was awarded the Order of Lakandula (Champion for Life) July 2006. The legendary Efren "Bata" Reyes followed suit October of 2006. True, both champions share the same honor, but the Magician is just recently basking in the fields of glory which has been Pacman's teritorry four months earlier.

Funny thing is that he was championing the Philippine flag waaaay before Pacquiao started trying his first mouthpiece on.

What's up with that?

Throwing Cats in Hampers

I just discovered yet another fun fun way to kill time.

No, it doesn't have lotion, a hard on, and a great plenty of horniness. But It has kittens, a big cat carrier that looks like a hamper, and a great plenty of accuracy. It's called Throwing Cats in Hampers.

Not that I hate cats or anything, they just get so annoying with all that movement that causes your data cables to go retarded. I've never been that disrupted when I'm online. I'm telling you, these furred spawns of satan are really cramping my cool. My monitor shuts off with not as much as an error message, and then you hear all this shuffling behind your computer tower. It's the same shuffling sound that I hear a few seconds before my speakers get disconnected. Its the same sound that causes the power in my CPU to go out. And its always been the same kittens causing that shuffling.

Then I saw this cat carrier or basket this one time, and then I just started throwing these kittens in. I grabbed one kitten, held it at the back of the neck, aimed real well, or at least I hoped I did, and then I threw it in. Yeah, it's like basketball, only you use kittens instead of a ball. And yeah, the same physics apply. That includes the part where the ball bounces off the basket, twice, before going in.

I'm telling you, righteous indignation has never been so, uhm, athletic.

Wicked Ocular Trauma

So I didn't post anything about Halloween. Big deal. I'm obsessively morbid by default anyway, so a Halloween post would be freaking Mortal Kombat overkill.

Halloween's a personal guilty pleasure; I admit to liking the Halloween spirit more than I do Christmas. But this was before Katrina de Castro and her hollow pumpkin started hosting them Magandang Gabi Bayan Halloween Specials.

I like to get scared. Honestly I do. But I'm not referring to the robbery-or-rape-at-knife-point kind of scared, or the bad-news-from-my-doctor kind of scared, or the I-might-lose-my-job kind of scared, or the my-boyfriend's-cheating-on-me kind of scared. What I mean is, I like to get scared at a leisurely pace.

Think movies. Think Scare TV specials. Think horror stories slash urban legends stretched in ten different versions. Once you get your freak on trembling in that wavelength, understand that every other kind of scared just fuck-ugly sucks. Katrina de Castro trying to scare a pantload of shit off of you just fuck ugly sucks.

I love horror movies like I love sex, and you'd imagine a taboo of gangbanging orgasms this last Hallow's Eve. Sexual Frustration, however, was this pantload of shit which involved Ramon Revilla Sr, a plastic toy bat headdress, legions of badly costumed demonic minions, and glow light anting-antings (amulets) flashing in their cheapness. Yes Momel, You Are Watching "Ang Mahiwagang Daigdig ni Elias Paniki." Wow. Scary.

Excuse me while I try my second Cartwheel of Uninhibited Happiness.

Anyway...

I said I am obsessively morbid by default, and that's meant to be a confession rather than a turn off.

I was about six years old during the first time I was three feet away from a, bad pun alert, live corpse. She was this rape victim in her twenties, I think. But what I remember with striking clarity were these black ants trickling out of her dead greying lips, her mouth formed in a half open gape as she allowed life to escape around five hours earlier.


That was a lingering memory towards which I have no real objection.

The Shaider Post

It's either I have too much time, or I just can't let go of another favorite childhood memory.

1. There was this episode where Annie was shot with her yellow panties in a mid air leap. That one little episode would arguably be the most remarkable for it shaped a lot of young horny bastards barely out of their foreskins.

2. Does anyone remember the Shigi-Shigi Strange Song? It's this disturbing theme music cued whenever Fuuma Lei-Ar weaves his evil in Tokyo. That's the same song we hear when he breeds yet another beast for Shaider to play with. It's strange, it haunts, and it is still recognized more than a decade since it first aired. As a matter of fact, I have this friend who have it as a ring tone in his mobile phone. I have it in Limewire.

Click here for the lyrics. Yeah, lyrics. You probably memorized the Voltes V theme anyway.

3. Lei-Ar has two memorable however overly made-up minions, Poe the God Officer(or Iga or Yda or Ida in the Philippine dub version) and Commander Hessler (or Drigo in the Philippine dub version). These two loved headdresses like it's nobody else's businesses. She had this oval-ish disco ball with horns sticking out both sides; his was urn shaped, had red streaks for drama, and had a square opening for his face. And did you know that Yda (or Iga or whatshisname) was really Fuuma Lei-Ar's transvestite grandson? Yeah. That's right, trans-ves-tite. Grand-son. How did I know? Internet.


4. Here's how our favorite hero usually goes for the kill. Shaider finds Ugly Strange Beast after twenty minutes of investigation in a thirty minute program. Ugly Strange Beast escapes into the Time Space Warp which exponentially increases it's evil powers by a freaking mile. Shaider pursues Ugly Strange Beast in said dimension where Ugly Strange Beast opens up a can of whoop-ass on said super-promoted Space Sheriff slash Metal Hero.

He suddenly gets equipped with the insanest arsenal of Ugly-Strange-Beast-Ass'-Kicking Gear. This includes the Blue Hawk, the jet thingy, and that drilling tank something something. And who can forget Babylos? This was their giant spaceship headquarters which turns into a monster-blasting weapon of evil-hating justice. Yeah, Shaider's projected blue image holding the Babylos in gun form was just pure wicked.

5. Shaider was Alexis in IBC Channel 13, and he was super-promoted from Archaeologist into Space Sheriff slash Metal Hero. Annie just can't be his girlfriend; she's just too baduy in those yellow, I dunno, chalecos?

He, on the other hand, looks just too delectable in those tight white pants.


6. Tokyo's almost always abandoned when Fuuma decides to go wickedly cruel on Sunday afternoons, just thirty minutes after Bioman. Yeah, we'll miss the original Yellow Four, but not as much as Hiroshi Tsuburaya.

Kamakaila'y nalungkot ako sa natanggap kong nagbabalitang patay na raw si Shaider. nalaman kong noong Hulyo 24, 2001 pa pala pumanaw sa edad na 37 dahil sa kanser sa atay si Hiroshi Tsuburaya, ang artistang Hapon na gumanap na Shaider."

from JAPAN "LIVE ACTION "HERO

Shaider's dead.

This post is my warm recollection of that Space Sheriff slash Metal Hero.

Friendster vs Blogger

It's just about time to push myself back.

Feeding the ego has never been more fun online as it never was offline. This is mostly true if your personality had the appeal of roadkill. Not that you're ugly or anything, but your charms leave much to be desired.

What makes it fun is that you don't need to be specifically goodlooking to be interesting. Give yourself a shot captured in an angle that makes things ten times cuter than they actually are, post that as your online identifier, and your all set. You learn how to Photoshop images, you become skillful in blurring out imperfections and capturing photographs with lighting that makes your complexion noticeably fairer than it actually is.

You might have stolen other people's photographs and claimed their handsome faces as your own.

You've mastered the magic of deception in your campaign for online popularity. The people in your friends list love you for it. The people in their list, in turn, find you an attractive little package with the suggestive powers of a few faked photos, and then they want you in their list.

You then develop a steady following. Your friends list grow to a hundred, two hundred, three hundred. You might have considered opening a second Friendster account to accomodate all these people who want you in their list because like you, they also believe in the transference of cool. The more people you have in your list, the more popular you appear to become, and the more friendster accounts you log into indicate the increasing appeal of your online self. Your ego is fed with every Invitation you approve of. Your satisfaction burps with every Testimonial you allow in your list.

Your happy and sweet and all that creamy goodness in your fake little world. What makes it funny is that you're successful as a super poser in a world where appearances matter more. What makes it funnier is you allowing all this deception to bloat your ego.

Blogging makes for a different kind of gratification. It is actually the kind of satisfaction certain people approve of since it acknowledges the creative self. And by creative self, I'm referring to brain output, the intellect, and nothing, not even doctored images, beats that kind of validation. Yeah, fake pictures require both skill and creativity, but the satisfaction is still on a different playing field all the same.

And what's good about it is that there's no cheating it. You're either an interesting writer, or you're not. You're either an effective writer, or you're not. You either have something to say, or you don't. People might actually care about what you're blogging for, or they don't. Your readers might return for a second helping of what you're serving, or they don't.

It's pretty much that black and white.

See, what makes blogging a whole plenty of different is that your blog becomes an outlet of your inner bastard writer. It creeps to the attention of well-meaning readers until it arrests them and makes them stop to read more. It begins to charm its way to the hearts of certain people. They begin to comment. And then they begin to comment on the rest of your posts until they've confessed to actually liking what you're writing about. They admire you as the bastard that you really are, and then you feel much better.

As a blogger, people actually browse through what you have to say.

You sigh in relief because no matter what you do, there's just no concealing stupid. And you're not hiding anything with your writing. So you sigh more. You even grin with the understanding that you never needed to fake your output. People appreciate you in the raw.

Of course, you can still go on ahead and plagiarize somebody else's writings and claim it as your own. But seriously, where's the fun in that?

That being said, you then look at your clock and find out you've been online for more than the healthy number of hours. Do something offline. Find time to masturbate.

In Canada: Filipino Table Etiquette Punished at Local School: Lunch Monitor Tells Student His Eating Habits are ‘Disgusting.’

Yeah, we might have heard or read of this in one page or another, but here are the links anyway:

From the West Island Chronicle
From iBalita Forums
From Yehey.com
and the Google search results

In a nutshell, he's this Filipino kid who eats with a spoon and fork. The Canadian lunch monitor from this certain school in Quebec tells him that his eating habits are disgusting. He goes on to repeatedly harass the boy's eating habits with more than a spoonful of scorn. He does this ten times until the boy becomes too embarassed to eat dinner with a spoon and fork. This upsets the Filipina mom who, in turn, reports this incident to the school principal. The principal then defends his staff member by saying, and I quote, "Madame, you are in Canada. Here in Canada you should eat the way Canadians eat."

Here:


End of story. And we have a phone in question:


Hey, I respect cultural differences in all it's rich and creamy goodness. I might even sign up for a parade if needed. But you never use the word "pig" in reference to any particular cultural aspect. That's just evil and something that the spawn of Satan would do. It's not nice, and it tends to become offensive, and it's something that you should apologize for.

...

What the hell am I saying? That statement is just downright cruel and indicates an ego about to explode like a swelling appendix. (Insert awful curse word that rhyme with truck, ALL CAPS ) YOU Mr Bergeron! Suck my (Insert slang for penis) you mother (insert the word fucker in here)!!!

And furthermore...oh wait, we have another transmission from line 2, and its from Mr Normand Bergeron himself!



Ha haa!

Next week on Momel's Big Blahg: The shit-eater's guide to proper table manners. Or maybe not. Don't keep your fingers crossed yet. It's all for show! HAR!

Explaining Some of My Favorite Movies

This is a little list of some of the movies I wouldn't mind faking a sick leave for.

http://www.hotfreelayouts.com/movies.php

So let me explain what's happening here.

I like To Wong Foo because you'll never see anything as funny as Wesley Snipes in drag elsewhere. This is actually where I got the snapping habit from. Broken Hearts Club appeal to the moist and chewy part of me which I never knew existed until this came along in HBO that one night. These two films are for the lady in me.

Yes, that's The Little Mermaid in the list. That's for the kid in me.

The Never Ending story was a warm childhood memory. What makes it warm is it had my Mom, my Dad, and Me. I remember we were still a complete family back then during the first time I watched this. And what they told me after the film was one of the things I have always cherished even in childhood. They told me, "Momel, appealing to sympathy is always a cheap shot."

Ha haa, got you.

The Silence of the Lambs was a recent favorite, and it had Sir Anthony Hopkins in his creepiest. Hannibal Lecter beats the bad shit out of Jason or Freddy or that ugly doll Chuckie ten times out of ten. Mind you, that's three against one.

Linda Blair's projectile vomiting in The Exorcist actually inspired Ryu and Ken's (Streetfighters) Ha-dou-ken. Yup, and I never masturbate. But the Exorcism of Emily Rose was a very interesting film on account of it actually introduces demonic possession as court evidence. In a legal procedure. In the court of law. I'm not sure if it's actually based from a true story, or if that's just another marketing propaganda, but the thought of actually presenting Lucifer to testify in the court of law is just ridiculously interesting.

I loved Sister Acts 1 and 2 for the music and the songs and all those funky nuns doing Dianna Ross and the Supremes. I've actually LimeWired most of the songs in the soundtrack.

Night of the Living Dead and The Bride of Frankenstein are absolute classics in all their black and white-ness. George Romero's genius does a magnificent transfer in color with his revival of Dawn of the Dead, and that little bitch of a horror flick actually had me screaming like the girl I was supposed to be.

There is a reason why people remember The Grudge. It's the same reason why you're seeing it in my list. Seven Doors to Death was also known as The Beyond, and by George, it had the best acid-poured-on-eyeballs scene ever!

I placed Girl Interrupted and Beetle Juice in my list not only because kleptomaniacs make for effective actresses but for entirely different reasons. Beetle Juice had Harry Bellafonte singing Day-O. And just when you thought Angelina Jolie's lips could never get any more abnormal, Girl Interrupted slaps you silly, paints you red, and calls you a dick.

Hey, you can get one of these fantastic list thingies (and you call me a writer) by going to:

Hot Free Layouts

Enjoy!