How to Deliver Your Self from Evil

**It has been glacial periods since I wrote anything for The Mistress of the Universe. So imagine my juvenile thrill when she gave me a deadline for this account. What you are about to read now, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, is the undistilled verbal diarrhea. Meanwhile, the edited submission appears here. 

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Edmund Burke  

If Evil was a foot and a half long, scuttled on four short legs, was coated in fur that's as black as corruption, and had a leathery tail that's as long as its body, then I woke up to the sight of it on my kitchen floor. It wasn't doing any scuttling this time on account of Evil was, to my mounting horror, Evil was half-trapped in this Glue Board. A part of me was convinced that It isn't sticking around to make friends. Half of Evil's horrible length, from its lower feet to some of its tail, was stuck to this Glue Board that I got in Puregold for fifty five pesos. 

Evil was not moving for the time being, like it was calculating a pandemic, and it was truly the most disgusting thing. Meanwhile, that Glue Board was truly the most amazing thing, and I have elected to purchase more of it if I live through this ugly ordeal. Anyway. 

I was frozen, briefly, from the sofa I slept in. I stood up, and Evil tried to scamper a few inches towards the open kitchen door. That slight movement paralyzed my courage all the more, because it meant I was not making all this shit up. "There's this adult rat that's half trapped on this glue board on my kitchen floor" shoved the sleep off me, and I armed myself with a purpose. I cannot allow, I will not allow Evil to live. It will return with an infernal appetite and an infestation of other Evils, and I cannot, will not live with that. Evil will triumph if a good fag like me did nothing, and besides, what will Jesus say? 

The fading sunlight of that afternoon poured on Evil, and it betrayed Evil's true form. The hair on my arms prickled. Evil was plump like gluttony and its scraggly coat of hair, not fur, was black like sin. Its gray, leathery tail was the whip that scourged people who take hourly selfies for all of Eternity. I see that Evil's bottom legs and maybe four inches of its tail were caught on the GlueBoard, and this explains Evil's restricted movement. I will not be able to unsee this oppressive image, and it is now an indelible nightmare in my brain, but I imagine that Evil's nuts were glued to the board as well, and that would make things tolerable because it is funny. 

H.P. Lovecraft wrote a short story, The Dreams in the Witch-House, where the antagonist, obviously a witch, owned a curious familiar. It was this large rat with the face of a man. Brown Jenkin teleports, was fluent in taunts, gnaws on human flesh with relish, and was altogether a mean little freak. He had nothing on this thing of Evil, however.  

I remembered we have a hammer in the garage. And a box of sandwich bags. I decided that I have some smiting to do. 

I stood up and walked on barefoot towards the locked screen door, my eyes glued and offended at Evil's oppressive presence on my kitchen floor. A sharp click issued when I undid the lock, but what happened next was as alarming as the lack of standards in the writing that you are reading now. I heard cardboard scrape across my kitchen floor at the same time the lock was released. Terror grew in my heart as I moved my head to where Evil was. The kitchen floor was now exorcised of the presence that possessed it a few seconds back. Where was it? I know that I should be relieved, but I committed myself to cleansing my house once and for all, so I braced myself and walked towards the open kitchen door. 

What I saw next nearly shocked the Christian faith out of me. 

And I wouldn't have lived through this awful turn of events were it not for two words of Divine Providence: "Glued Nuts." You see, Evil's panicked scuttling caused the whole length of its form, that plump black form, to stick on The Glue Board. And it was far more revolting because I am now seeing it up close. Evil was now as completely helpless as it was hideous on The Glue Board. It is now entirely stationary, except for it's small, scheming head that moved left and right as it contemplated its current circumstance. I crossed myself for protection. Glued Nuts. 

I rushed back to the garage to where The Hammer is. It's nothing more than a used claw hammer, really, but it will serve a heavenly function today. I wrapped the business end of The Hammer with two sandwich bags. Things will be particularly messy, there will be blood, and you will not catch me scrubbing rat brain off the head of some claw hammer. Meanwhile, I am now reinforced with implements of retribution. I have my faith, and a claw hammer that's wrapped in two sandwich bags. I am ready. And with God as my witness, I will get shit done.

My feet approached with caution because Evil, trapped as it was, grew in size with each step I made towards it. The Glue Board excelled in its divine purpose, but God damn this monstrous Evil! My heart was on the verge of collapse as I squatted next to this helpless abomination, but I have decided to be brave. I was then a foot next to Evil stuck in The Glue Board. I paused, and with what little measure of courage I have about me, I squatted down. My heart was paralyzed in my throat as I gripped the Hammer on my left hand. Time slowed down. Imagine the smell of an adult rat.  

I hovered my Hammer of Good two to three inches above Evil's hysterical head, made one upward swing, for practice, took a deep breath, and then I closed my eyes. I repeated that trajectory in my head, and then brought the Hammer down in one thunderous wallop. 

Whackkk! 

The air was still, and everything was silent save for my heart beating in my throat along with that troubled worrying in my head. That was deafening for good reason. Did I miss? I have good aim, usually, but I smited Evil on the head, hopefully, with my eyes closed. So there's a considerable chance that my Hammer of Good fucked up, my aim might have gone to hell, and I might need to hammer Evil on the head one more time for good measure. 

I opened my eyes. The Glueboard, to my mounting anxiety, was now flipped over, and all I could see was four inches of Evil's leathery tail sticking out from below. It wasn't moving. I let go of The Hammer, carefully, and I stood up with expectation. I might have done it. I might have perished Evil. I might have triumphed, and Edmund Burke will be so proud. My heart resumed its rightful place in my chest, and I noticed I'm breathing easier now. I have calmed down. And with this resurgence of confidence in this immaculate accomplishment, I tapped the Glue Board with my left foot, and then it twitched. 

The Glue Board shivered with the living Evil trapped below it. And it shuddered again. Evil lived, oh Lord, Evil survived my smiting, and it mocked my courage with this display of sheer protest. Indignation coursed through my veins as I decided to... No, I was too exasperated to think straight (not to mention too gay), so I stomped on the Glue Board, twice, with every fiber of irritation in my person. And then it was still. 


I tapped the Glue Board one more time, and it was lifeless. I left it alone for a minute, and it remained utterly still. So I took a garbage bag and heaved The Glue Board into it. A slight pool of blood marked my triumph. And, for what it's worth, I could have bled that pool myself, for I have never killed anything larger than Pestilence, which is a cockroach, prior to perishing Evil today. 

Hello 2016

**I posted something today because I want to start 2016 right with the wrong kind of material.  



He was about nine, and his brother maybe four. But I'm sure they wore matching shirts that are red and white. His left arm was wrapped around his little brother's shoulder, in what was an affectionate display of brotherly love, and his right hand was holding a half empty bottle of beer. The air was thick with good cheer and suffocating with the residual smoke from exploded firecrackers. It was deafening, too, with Really Terrible karaoke singing and vainglorious Judas Belts, Atomic Big Triangulos, Mother Rockets, Goodbye Philippines, and similar prohibited firecrackers that are better off confining little shit kids in crowded emergency rooms. And, like the previous celebrations of the incoming year, I am still hearing that one hit wonder Virna Lisa belting "Magkaisa" somewhere. Whoever hired that DJ should be drowned in gunpowder. This is because the People's Power Revolution was nearly thirty years ago, and he still doesn't have any good songs to usher in 2016. 

Anyway. Happy New Year from the smaller intestines of Pasig City. 

Happy Holidays, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts

**She said it will take them thirty minutes, so I wrote this instead. 

All this shopping, and crowding with tired well wishers, and falling in holiday lines that are unusually longer, and carrying tons of shopping bags that give your shoulders all kinds of hell, and spending cash that, in theory, look better in your savings account, and walking the length of the largest Third World Mall five times in one day and then earlier the next day and then the weekend following that, and getting in cheerless cabs after an hour or so of waiting in line, and wrapping gifts without a tape dispenser, and multiple trips around and about the Metro, and being with family you meet once a year always on the same date, and hiding, yes hiding, from god kids, and all this shaking of my head in accepting disbelief. All these chores of goodwill are wearing my tits out. But I am committed to them, just the same, out of the honest kindness of my heart.  

Having said all that, I am beyond relief that I am 15 minutes away from going home with my New Year's take out. I am having pizza, because all these celebrations left me too exhausted to cook or tell the truth. And then I am done, oh goodness mercy, I am so done. 

Like you, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, I am also looking forward to 2016. 

To You, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts

I am still of this earth, and I propose to write to you soon. I am doing this on a handheld device, like my dick, and it will, I have decided, take some getting used to. My writing's already a pungent mess as it is. 

I have noticed that I'm still getting repeat visits, and that answers the question "Can this faggot get any more retarded?" I will write to you, soon, so keep your boots dry and stop pissing on them. 

A True Love Story

**This is not in keeping with the dumb shit I write, but things like this happen offline. Of course, the contents of this post have been altered for "sharing" purposes. And by "altered," I meant no F-words or C-words or D-words or M-words or N-words or G-words, none of the usual herbs and spices. This is a God Damned Love Story, a True Love Story for mother fucking crying out loud. 

You're looking at two hearts. And a forensic pathologist. 

Dear Immigration Officer, 




I didn't know what to expect of this sweetheart I met online. That was in September 2009. Albert and I got to talking, and doing video calls, as is customary with these introductions, and I agreed to meet him in person three months later. There is something disarming about him that made me throw all caution to the wind and just say yes to meeting him in person. 

I admit that I could be careless, but this felt safe, for some reason. 

I cannot forget December 27, 2009 because that was when I finally met him in person. Albert is a dashing and handsome fox at 56. I was 26 then. Yes, ours is a May December affair, and it is pregnant with equal measures of caution and abandon. I remember well how he told me, with this smile in his voice, that I was the one he's looking for. And then, in the midst of the bustle in that busy airport, he hugged me. Tight. That was two days after Christmas, and it still felt like sunshine. 

We got to know each other better during his ten day visit. He's a real gentleman, and he overflowed with manners and he treated me with this unprecedented care. Was I fragile? No. But the way he was with me, the way he regarded me and took me in his arms, it felt right. Finally, something felt right in my 26 years, and I couldn't have been any more grateful than I was back then. 

It was amazing how things got better, how we took off, for he was back after a month, and then some more. His visits were frequent; he returned to the Philippines to see me 16 more times after we first met, and I was happier each time. 

I will apologize now for the cliche, because the truth is, there are no other words. Albert is a dream that came true, and he materialized into this amazing man, and he is my amazing man. And then, at the height of my happiness, he surprised me with a proposal. 

Our Holy Union Ceremony took place in August 2010. I know it is rather sudden, rushed, even, but how can I say no to this man? To this dream? I am aware of his prior trespasses, for his honesty was admirable. He admitted everything to me before we got married, no, United, and I have learned to accept him for everything that he is and for everything that he's been through. 

The Filipino gay culture is more than being attracted to the same sex. We want to look like women, we want to be loved as women, we want to be women. I cannot get over the fact that Albert continued to love me even after my sexual reassignment surgery. I had my sudden reservations then. Will he continue loving me without my boy parts? That was critical, decisive, even, but he supported me regardless. Would you believe that he financed my operation? And we're still a happy couple to this day. He never, ever, abandoned me, and his sunshine is as warm as the day I first met him in 2009.  

And so I ask you this, dear Officer. How can I not love him more? I never left him, I never did, and this was a decision that I have never, not once, regretted. Albert really is the one, and I am fortunate to have been united with him, if only in spirit. 

But then, as good fortune would have it, same sex marriage has been legalized in some parts of the US. This was in 2013, and I am seeing this as the one real proof of my unwavering devotion to Albert. We have five years of trust and loyalty and mutual affection behind us, and we are looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together. I intend to marry Albert as soon as possible, as soon as the opportunity presents itself, and I cannot wait to say yes, in a real ceremony, to this sweetheart I met online five years ago. 




Sincerely, 

John Peter Pascual