Blogfiction: Endless Summer Romance Part 0-Prelude to a Dream

Ivy sat devastated in a bar stool at the far end of the bar. She looked like the saddest girl who ever sipped on a strawberry margarita. Beside her, was a miniature golden cat, waving its right paws back and forth, like a mocking little motherfucker who knew everything.

It has been 4 days, 3 hours, 27 minutes and 56 seconds since Bruce, her fiance, broke up with her-Ivy realized when she stared at her Philip Stein. That bastard. Then she took out her mobile, checked the screen and found no signs of Bruce.

The Snake Pit is Bruce's favorite club. At least that's how she remembers it. After four sordid days of locking herself up inside her room, she went out hunting. She had hoped to find Bruce in this dark, brooding place. All the music they play here are the cliche-ridden Rock n' Roll and some weird electronic music which Ivy can't really relate to. As she came to think of it, while Bruce knew most of the people here, she knew nobody. Or even recognized anyone. This was Bruce's world. Not hers. Still, she sat on the bar and waited as a silent predator patiently waits on her prey.

Bruce never showed. It was a quarter past three and Ivy was half tipsy and half sleepy. She fell asleep face down on the formica. The bartender called for a cab. But not until after sobering up the nice lady a little with a couple of Italian expressos. He knew who Ivy was. She was Atty. Bruce Jacob's girlfriend. He did not tell her that Atty. Jacob left about ten minutes before she came in.

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5 Days ago

Bruce almost punched Tommy after hearing the news. You motherf*cker, how dare you? That's not true! Bruce was clinching on Tommy's neck with one hand, and his right was balled into a fist, preparing to strike a great blow from mid-air.

"Punch me if you want, pare, but a once a hoe, always a hoe. I'm your bro, dude. Bros before hoes, puta. I saw Ivy with that creepy guy from before. They were all cuddly and crap."

"When?" said Bruce, a man with a vast vocabulary.

"Last Tuesday, sa Eastwood while me and our buddies was about to go and see a street race between Kanzai and H3. 'Tangina pare, she's making a fool of you. I didn't want to tell you pero I know you guys are getting married...so..."

"..." Bruce released Tommy and almost fell down on his knees. But he didn't. Instead he said, "Just drop it, Tom. Just fuckin' drop it."

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4 days ago

Bruce had a rough day at the office. He screamed at his clerk, which in turn, made the poor lady cry. A big client was very unhappy. He will still spend Christmas in jail, despite the big wad of cash he gave Bruce to er, expedite the procedings. Bruce's ear was still ringing half an hour after this crook client of his banged the phone on the other end of the line. That's becuase the little clerk forgot to mail on time the pleading Bruce prepared. Bruce had half a mind to fire her, but good help, Bruce realized, was hard to find. He came home to the apartment he and Ivy was staying at. It was round elevenish. No Ivy. No dinner at the table. Bruce opened the fridge and found half a box of OJ's and some eggs. I don't deserve this shit, Bruce thought.

"Where are you?" said Bruce when Ivy answered.

"I'm with friends...here at Amplitude...and youghdrtsy, huouhggnj..." The reception was not so hot. The background music/noise was too loud. Beep. Then the whole thing got cut.

Friends. Amplitude. The latter is a dance club where hip kids go to spend their parents' hard earned cash on booze. Some yuppies also frequent there to find sex, as in any other club. Bruce can't stand that sort of place, as much as he can't stand Ivy's friends.

Bruce haven't had anything since brunch. He decided to go to a McDonald's drive-thru and order some nuggets and fries. He took his silver Honda 2000. Hunger was just another excuse to drive. Amplitude was just a few blocks away from the McDo so Bruce, against his better instincts, thought of driving by. As he did so, he smiled at the cars parked at the lot. There were Toyotas with GT wings, Mitsubishis with Spoon stickers, and cut-spring dropped Sentras with street-glow pummeling the midnight air with 99,000 decibels of low-SQ gangsta rap. The Philippines is truly the rice capital of the world. Bruce almost hit his head at his Mugen "Mickey Mouse" steering wheel when he braked when he saw Ivy getting inside a ricey '99 Honda EK with a cheap glittered red finish. Shortly thereafter, he saw a guy wearing a baseball cap sideways enter the driver's side door of the rice mobile.

"Well, fuck me..." Bruce whispered to himself. He saw shadows kissing inside the sedan since it had magic tint. Bruce then stepped hard on the throttle and white smoke engulfed everyone within the roadster's immediate radius. Bruce went home, packed his overnight bag and threw it by the passenger seat.

"d engagemnt is ovr. wer nt mnt 2 b. tnx anyway 4 d gud tyms." Bruce typed on his SMS screen.

He added "go fuck urself." at the end but decided to erase the same. Send. If it's easy for you to cheat on me, I'll make it even easier--Bruce thought.

Starting from few minutes after Bruce hit the send button, there were eighty-six messages and ninety missed calls from Ivy. Bruce never learned of it. He threw away his cellphone at the NLEX while driving towards Bagiuo City.

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3 days ago

After a quart of Jim Beam, a couple of double shots of Jack, and about six pints of beer, Atty. Bruce Jacob slept behind the wheel in a garage of a local Pine City motel. He didn't even make it up the room. The girl she was with, left him hours ago at the club, as no one is really interested in motorbreath and a limp dick.

After four hours, Bruce woke up because he thought someone hit him in the head. Massive hangover. He climbed up the stairs, stripped and showered for two hours. He thought of Ivy but realized that he doesn't really love her anymore. In fact, he doubted if he ever loved her in the first place. Ivy was easy on the eyes. Easy to love. But "what in the green hell is love, anyway? Who knows these things?" Bruce thought. After he got dressed, he went to the mall and bought a M&S shirt, a pair of Levi's annd some fresh socks. He bought a ticket and changed in the moviehouse comfort room since he knew that there's going to be less people there. Without seeing the movie, however, he started his journey back to Quezon City.

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2 days ago

Bruce was slaving at the office. The holidays were approaching and reglementary periods were ending. There were pleadings and motions to finish and a whole lot of cash to be collected. He worked till midnight. He bought a new cellular. An i-phone. Bruce had integrated his old cellphone's phone book into his car's head unit so transferring contacts were easy. He planned that he'd do it on the drive to the motel he was staying in the meantime. At least, for the time being until Ivy packs and leaves the apartment. If she doesn't, Bruce thought he'd go to the States for New year's eve. He might just celebrate it in NY's famous Times Square. He always dreamt of that when he was a kid. Back when Sinatra was still alive and crooning.

Bruce started transferring the contacts from his car to his new i-phone. He reviewed the names while he drove and some entries he found interesting.

Gabriel Reyes. Good old Gabe. Gabe was like a brother to Bruce back in college. Bruce tried to call him but Gabe didn't answer. Bruce then dialled a few more names of friends but no one answered. maybe it didn't help that it was a quarter before midnight on a thursday night.

Selena Cruz. Bruce hit the "call" button.

"Hello. Who's this?" a female voice answered.

"Uhm, hi. It's always a pleasure to hear your voice." Bruce answered.

"Bruce? Is this Bruce Jacob?" Selena asked as if she did not already know.

"Who else?"

"Hmmm, eh where's your wife Ivy?"

"She's not my wife."

"Ok, where's your fiance?"

"I dont know. I don't care."

"Bakit, nag-away kayo?"

"No. Hindi."

"Eh ba't you don't know, you don't care ka diyan?"

"Ivy and me are through. The wedding's off. Enough about her. I don't want to talk about her anymore."

Selena is sort of Bruce's ex-girlfriend. Well, sort of because they really weren't officially involved, but their closeness back in the day made everybody thought they were the perfect couple. Bruce and Selena also thought they could have been. Up to this very night, they teased why they didn't end up with each other, what could've been and why things happen the way they did, what would their kids look like, and all sorts of other cheesy stuff from their past and even those of the alternate present, way beyond Bruce had parked his car in the motel garage, stripped into his undergarments, laid on the bed, and the conclusion of three episodes of a 7th Heaven marathon. Bruce and Selena talked more than three hours on the phone before Selena had the mind to ask: "Bakit ka nga pala napatawag?" Then they both laughed. After the laughing stopped, Bruce told her, "I want to see you."

"Ok. Sunduin mo ako from work."

Blogfiction: Endless Summer Romance Chapter 2 - "Earth Angel"

If anyone could be blinded by beauty, Bruce almost got done in that night. She was wearing a fuschia number which made her skin even more temptingly fair, and her dark and shiny auburn hair seem like a lovespell. All Bruce could do was grin. It couldn't be helped. He was like a child who has seen the contents of an unwrapped Christmas gift. It was one of those moments that if his life was a musical, he would've burst out in song.

"Selena" said Bruce, trying not to be caught dumbstruck, but Selena must've thought it was too late for that act. She gave her tote bag to him and said "Ang bigat nito, grabe."

"Ano ba ang laman nito?" asked Bruce, still staring.

"Kung ano-ano...my things. I'm hungry na, ikaw?" answered Selena. Selena's voice has a calming effect on Bruce, as he suddenly felt like they just saw each other that morning though they haven't for months.

And everytime Bruce sees her, she never fails to make him fall all over again.

As the couple started walking towards the restaurant situated a few buildings west of hers, the sky trickled. The couple found themselves under a commuter shade. The ones in Ayala are nice, if you just ignore the tacky poster ads. Bruce had no umbrella of course, as he thought himself as a self-respecting macho. Selena had small yellow one, the kind that High School girls carry, the one that would barely fit one person underneath.

"Sa bag." Selena was pointing to the Parisian tote bag Bruce slung on his right shoulder.

"Ang alin?" Without waiting for the answer, Bruce realized what she was asking for. Bruce opened the yellow umbrella and mockingly admired its polka-dotted design. They both smiled and continued walking. The small space beneath the yellow umbrella gave Bruce the oportunity to put his arms around her shoulder while they traverse the pathway towards their destination. Selena didn't seem to mind. Bruce could almost guess that she's enjoying it at least as much as he was.

They decided on Japanese. Bruce liked the salmon sashimi, and Selena ate a tofu steak and some tempura. They shared more than a few laughs during dinner and anyone who would see them that night would think that they are a nice young hardworking couple having dinner after work. In some ways, they really are. After dinner, the sky cleared up. As the couple stepped outside the building, Selena looked up the sky and said: "Look Bruce, the moon is so bright...aww!" Selena broke one of her heels. She was wearing these strappy little stilletos. Shiny gold ones.

Bruce immediately kneeled to check if Selena had a sprain or a bruise. She didn't. But her right shoe was history.

"Favorite ko pa naman 'yan." Selena's voice was that of a sweetheart. Bruce gently and lovingly massaged her feet in alongside the sidewalk in one of the busiest streets in the Metro, but he didn't care. It did not matter to him that he was a named partner of one of the better Law Firms in the city. No, scratch that, the country. Bruce did not care if a Supreme Court Judge could see him doing such a silly thing in public. He glanced one time at her face and saw her smiling. That alone paid for the price of admission.

"May slippers ako sa bag." A woman's bag has more gizmos and trinkets than Batman's utitlity belt--Bruce thought as he was scrummaging for the pair. He put them on her like she was Cinderella. He even offered to carry her like a bride until they reach his car. It was a joke but if Selena answered yes, Bruce might just have done it. When they got inside the motor vehicle, Selena said "Thank you Bruce, no one has ever done that to me."

"Done what?" Bruce was genuinely puzzled.

"Basta. Thank you for treating me like, uhm, a lady." Then she kissed him. He kissed back. You know how it goes. One thing leads to another.

"You know I love you." said Bruce, when he was finally driving her home. Selena remained quiet, holding his shifter hand. She changed the topic. She wanted to talk about the meaning of happiness. About cheesy TV commercials. About why she likes this certain actress, etc., but generally, she wanted to talk about things that makes them both laugh. Times like these, Selena was most happy. But Bruce kept a shadow of uncertainty at the back of his thoughts, though he tries to erase it by playing along. Maybe she'll tire of the game she's playing, he thought. For now, there was no reason to spoil everything.

The moon shined bright. Stars abound the heaven's on such a night. Bruce wished every night could be like this night. He was driving home his dream girl, his earth angel, in his favorite car, after a lovely evening in the city. Little did he know that tragedy was about to strike.

/end of part 2

Part 0-Prelude to a Dream

Blogfiction:Endless Summer Romance-Chapter 1 "The beginning of the end"

Bruce was sitting on his office desk when his cellphone sang to the tune of that wondergirls tune. It was his current message alert tone. The message read: "2loy b tyo l8r?" Without looking at the keypad, his fingers typed at an amazing speed: "yup. cnt w8 2 c u" As instantaneous as the bundy stroke 5:00 o' clock, Bruce punched out. Short of running, he rushed towards the elevator.

He drove towards the direction of Ayala avenue--eastbound. The Makati traffic made him swore like a whore who haven't been paid. After what seemed like an eternity to him, he finally reached his destinaton. He parked his Kaiser Silver S2000 at the basement of a strange building, and typed on his Finnish cellular: "d2 n me. wer n u?" No more than a few seconds have passed since he hit the send button and the wondergirls started singing again. "pnta ka sa lobby. c u @ starbucks."

Like a part of a crew of profesional robbers, Bruce followed the fresh instructions to the letter, and ordered an orange juice from the coffee shop. He text(ed) again: "d2 n me strbcks" He then started sippinng his OJ with what seemed like a bit of fury. He was becoming anxious with anticipation. When the hunderd-peso juice was done, there's still no reply, so he created another message: "wer u n?" Bruce flashed a cigarette and transferred to one of the seats outside and smoked. Nobody, nobody but you... a reply read: "I was on my way down but I frgot 1 of my thngs so i had 2 go back. w8 lang wil b der in 5 mins" He replied: "sure, no prob" He lit another stick as a timer and changed his message alert tone to a simpler beep-beep. He noticed that the Starbucks people were looking at him with contempt after they have heard part of the Korean hit twice in five minutes. He set it up initially as a joke for his staff, but he found out that the same grew old too quick. Then he whipped out a sachet of hand sanitizer to lessen if not eradicate the smell of nicotine and tar from his hands. He popped a couple of Smints in his mouth and resumed waiting.

Beep-beep. "i'm here" Bruce turned around and found what he was looking for. Trouble-that should be her name.

/end of part 1.

Part 2- Earth Angel.

The Nature of God and Things That I Don't Do Anymore

I haven't seen God for a while now. Maybe he's real busy. Perhaps He's doing His work somewhere. Who knows where God goes? Who knows what God thinks? That's perhaps the reason why He is who He is. A man could read all the books written throughout history and wouldn't still have an inkling about the nature of God. God is unfathomable by the intellect of man. His existence cannot be proven nor disproven. He is who He is. I believe in Him because last time I saw Him, He practically told me to be absolutely loyal to my lovely wife--over a couple of San Mig Premiums. Premiums. I used to love that beer when it first came out, but it got old fast. Now I'm back to plain old Pale Pilsen. Super Dry if there's any, just not Light. I can't stand the latter's wateriness. If there's one thing I know about God, it's that He loves beer. For God so loved the world, He created barley.

Lately, apart from drinking the occasional brew, I have been doing "normal" things. Shit like work, fixing my old car, watching movies on the DVD, playing GT on the PSP, surfing the internet, etc., et-fuckin-cetera. It's been years since I've been in a band, and the strings on my vintage Ibanez (A Japan made, first edition, 22-fret RG350) would probably break due to rust if I try and play it now. I miss playing "rock" shows, the loud music, the friends, and all the other things that go with it. I just hate getting broke over some gig. Show me a musician who got rich through his music and I'll show you a sellout who doesn't like half of what he's playing. I want to be rich, so I put down my guitar. As my trusty old six-string rests on the top of my old bunk bed, so does my AR15 fully automatic airsoft rifle.

I picked up airsoft after the dog game in the Philippines got filled with posers and become real dangerous for "decent" people. A few used-to-be dogmen started playing the airsoft game in the early 2000's. I was really heavy on airsoft back when Chinese airsoft rifles were useless pieces of shit. These days, I have heard, airsoft guns from China are at par, or at least quite near, with the quality of top airsoft maker Tokyo Marui. I tried to buy all of the military gear that goes with it, researched all of the crap about it, played it for about two (2) years and got sick of it. Its nothing but a bunch of uniformed guys, most of them between their 20's and 40's weilding fuckin' metal and plastic guns that fires 6mm round pellets below 600FPS (feet per second). Besides, the sonofabitch hurts. My younger brother is still at it to this day and perhaps will still play airsoft until the day he dies. A very good friend of mine, my best man in our wedding is also hooked on this stuff. In fact, he's closer to my little brother now than he is to me. They see each other every saturday when they shoot the crap out of their opponents with tiny plastic bullets.

Lastly, I don't dream anymore. All my sleep are filled with darkness. The moment I sleep to the moment I wake is like a blink of an eye. I remember I used to dream that I am a microscopic Superman flying about two (2) inches from the ground fighting grasshoppers, bugs, beetles, and my archenemy, the neighbors cat. I used to dream that same dream when I was really young. I also used to dream about an angel, seeing me from time to time, doing all sorts of shit with me. She was a real thing of beauty. But in my dream I did some things that made us fall apart. That's perhaps I was a little too afraid of the light she brought with her. The last time I dreamt about her was last year, I think. Prior to this revelation, I have never told anyone about her. If she's real, she'll understand that I only did those things because I didn't know better. To this day, however, I can't forget a particular nightmare I had when I was about twenty (20). I dreamt of a few circles close to each other. Like the circles made by a bunch cold glasses of water place closed togehter. That nightmare gave me the creeps which defied all logic. I woke up crying to my parents and like a true yellow motherfuker, I yelped "yung mga bilog...hu-hu-hu-hu" Putangna, I knew I hated math and geometry but that was too much. Perhaps I was afraid of the goddam circles because maybe they weren't really circles. Now I realize that they were zeroes. I was afraid of zeroes. No need to worry now because I don't dream anymore.

Thank God for the blackness.

Bulacandia

If you ask someone, anyone, who does not hail from this province, where my (and coincidentally M.H. and Gregorio del Pilar's), hometown is located and they will probably draw a blank in their heads. It's actually shameful. Bulacan, Bulacan is a Municipality in Bulacan province with a population of over 60,000, etc., etc....(just click this wiki link).

The Dirty Rat Race

Some assh*le, whose name I can't (refuse) to remember said on air that it is Noy-noy's (Aquino, son of the late great senator Benigno "Ninoy" Aquino--he's the four-eyed dude with his fist on his chin in the P500.00 bill for you, dumb kids--and the late former President Corazon "Cory" Aquino) "destiny" to become president of this nation of ours. Apart from Johnnny Knoxville's classic ideas, that's about the stupidest sh*t I've heard in a long while. That goes "up there" (in the hall of fame of stupid ideas) together with Johnny Ponce Enrile's "Scrap the Energy Royalty Tax" crap, the proposed new tax on text messaging, and the latest issuance by the Ombudsman to prohibit (in the guise of regulation) the access of anyone to the SALN (Statements of Assets, Liabilities and Net Worth) of government officials. In the words of Dave Mustaine (MegadetH founder and frontman extraordinaire), Destiny, oh, that wicked schemer!

Noy-noy, as he's already a senator (Yey mom!), IMHO had already reached the pinnacle, no, the apex, of his political adventure. I mean, Noy-noy? What the F*cking hell? If you make a list of senate underachievers, he's most likely to top the list just behind senator Lito-lito and whatshisface "Panday" wannabe. (FPJ's death must be partly caused by the remake of the classic by a pa-cute over-age dumbass like this son of Nardong Putik). To make things simple, Ninoy is Ninoy, Cory is Cory, and Noy-noy is f*cking Noy-noy. He's just that--f*cking Noy-noy. He's Kristeta's still-to-come-out-but-perhaps-never-will gay only brother. I always imagine him doing funny things like picking his nose or catching a quick nap during senate session hearings and whatnot.

I heard that his "supporters," before Noy-noy "decided" to "accept" the "ordeal" of running for president even made signature drives but the results were, well, a little bit short of catastrophic. Apart from these gooks who started these drives, about two (2) other people signed I think, but they get to keep the pens. The pens perhaps are Parkers. So, even without the millions of signatures of Filipinos "clamoring" for another child of a president to become president because it is his goddamned "destiny,"--just like it was the devil-whore GMA's--f*cking Noy-noy went ahead and "accepted" the "offer" for him to run for president of this so-called great democracy.

But what really bugs me is Mar "Anak, itabi mo, ako na" Roxas' decision to back out from the presidential race. I never really liked the b*tch Korina Sanchez, but I really do feel for her. I also sympathize with everyone who placed their entire trust--though misguided, if I may say so myself--to Mr. Palengke. I mean, if I really believed that this guy, f*cking Mar Roxas is worthy and should be the next president of this republic, and then when the sh*t hits the fan he suddenly backs the f*ck out without even consulting anyone who is anyone in his core camp, I'd be fuming mad with disappointment in epic proportions. If I were Korina, I'd bitch-slap him twice on both cheeks. Damn cowardice ruined first lady dreams. I wish the wedding pulls through as it should. At least the people will find that entertaining and would leave some sort of psychological saving-grace for Roxas.

Then there's Jejomar "Barrack-O" Binay. I heard he's also backing out from the race. Good for him. He was sure to loose anyway. Why? Because the rest of the country is not Makati. Sa Makati, todo-todo ang benepisyo. Sa Pilipinas, todo-todo ang perwisyo. Somehow, however, I am a tad disappointed when I heard the news. Even if he was destined to loose, I could've voted for him. He's a De Molay and for me, that's enough reason.

Manny Villar seems/appears to be doing good. His war chest is huge and he's reacting to recent events like a good tactician should. All this hype with f*cking Noy-noy will surely die down. The elections are still a few months away and a lot of things could still happen. While I don't exactly like his philosophy, I am a sort of a fan of his marketing skill. This guy could probably sell refrigerators to damn Eskimoes. His campaign strategy is cool and well thought of ab initio. The "interview" with Boy Abunda was a stroke of genius. I particularly liked one Q&A which went like this:

Boy Abunda: Senator, maraming nagsasabi na napakalaki na ng inyong nagasta sa kampanya, at alam naman ng lahat na kung hindi mangungurakot ang isang opisyal ng gobyerno, hindi nya mababawi ang kanyang nagastos noong siya ay nangangampanya pa lamang. Ano po ang masasabi ninyo dito?

Manny Villar: Alam mo Boy, bata pa lang ako, namulat na ako sa negosyo, at dahil sa sipag at tiyaga, na pinaniniwalaan kong mayroon lahat tayong mga Pilipino, at dahil ako ay sinwerte, medyo naka-angat ako sa buhay. Tungkol naman sa mga nagastos ko, at patuloy pa ring ginagastos dulot ng aking paghahangad makapag-lingkod ng lubos, hindi ko na iniisip na bigyan yan ng halaga.

Eto naman ang tanonng ko sa iyo Boy, papaanno mo ibnigyan ng halaga o presyo ang isang panngarap? Pangarap ko ang maglingkod sa ating bayan bilang pangulo at gagawin ko ang lahat para matupad ang pangarap na ito. Hindi na bale ang lahat ng gastos alang-alang sa pangarap kong maglingkod sa sambayanang Pilipino.

I just hope that if he wins it all, he won't spend all his time being president building ghetto quality subdivisions, flame warring with a d*ckwad like Lacson, and "rescuing" migrant workers who got their lives f*cked-up abroad.

And oh, never-you-mind the pundits ike Estrada (who seems to be loosing his mind these days with that running TV ad), Teodoro, Legarda, BF (the Napoleon-complex ridden jerk who deserves his own hater blog), Villanueva, Panlilio, etc., et-f*cking-cetera. They were all losers to begin with and they will always will be.

Finally, I'm getting to like Chiz Escudero. He has the becoming of a good guy. He won't win if he runs for president, but I starting to like him. Maybe Sherryl, my skinny little classmate from AUSL who had the biggest crush on this skinny little guy was right. Chiz could be "The Man" of the future.

The truth about the H1N1 virus

H1N1. Sounds like a name of an experimental protoype/eco-friendly engine to me (hydrogen-nitrogen virus ver.1 or something to that effect. I'm an chemical engineering illiterate, so excuse me Bren & Whe). On a serious note, the friendly neighborhood Wikipedia defines Swine Flu as (also called swine flu, hog flu, and pig flu) an infection of a host animal by any one of several specific types of microscopic organisms called "swine influenza virus". In 2009 the media labeled the disease as "swine flu" as it is caused by 2009's new strain of A/H1N1 pandemic virus. The origin of this new strain is still unknown. Or rather, more probably, the same has yet to be made public.

Relatively recent events taken together however, enlightened me.

On August 20, 2007 Department of Agriculture officers investigated the outbreak of swine flu in Nueva Ecija and some other areas in Central Luzon. The mortality rate is less than 10% for swine flu, unless there are complications like hog cholera. On July 27, 2007, the Philippine National Meat Inspection Service (NMIS) raised a hog cholera "red alert" warning over Metro Manila and 5 regions of Luzon after the disease spread to backyard pig farms in Bulacan and Pampanga, even if these areas tested negative for the swine flu virus.

A couple of days ago, I met a Japanese student-researcher named Shinji Mikami at a local bar. Since I am a fan of all things Japanese, I talked to him in earnest. To my surprise, and only after a few bottles of the disgusting light beer he was drinking, he told me his story and the reason why he was here in the Philippines. The following are his exact words (I have perfect dictation memory):


"When I first came to the Philippines, I studied at Kalayaan College and at the same time I had a job interview at a Japanese Scientific Research company. After studying in Kalayaan College, I started to work in that Japanese company in SBFZ. Actually it was my first job and I was assigned to take charge of the ChemLab even though I was still young and had no experience and knowledge concerning Bio-engineering work. To gain the confidence of my staff as their boss was quite hard for me at first but I discussed and worked with them closely and gradually gained their trust. Although I was the only Japanese scientist in the Olongapo facility, I didn’t feel lonely at all and I didn’t think of escaping from my difficult circumstances, thanks to my beloved staff. What I found difficult in the Olongapo Lab was that most of the staff speak corrupted English and mostly Tagalog (Filipino language) which I don’t understand well. Communication with the members was indeed very difficult for me then. Traveling from Olongapo to Manila, it takes around 3 hours. After every meeting I attended in Manila, I took a bus going back to Olongapo city even though everyone advised me not to take a bus during nighttime. I was able to muster up courage and do this because I was chanting in the trip all the way from Manila for safety. My stay and the research activities I did in Olongapo are my most unforgettable memories. I will never forget them with my sincerest gratitude for loving and accepting me as one of their own fellows.

Later on, or on January 2007, I came back to Japan and my bosses there gave me a new assignment. We (the Olongapo team) were to conduct research on a "Miracle Vaccine" that can actually prevent HIV from mutating into full blown AIDS. The vaccine's function is to slow the growth of the deadly virus 1000 times. Meaning, if it normally takes the HIV to mature into AIDS in about 5-10 years, if we are successful, we can delay that into 5,000 to 10,000 years, or well beyond the life expectancy of any human. For this, we needed to transfer to a bigger facilty at Nueva Ecija. With coordination with CLSU (Central Luzon State University) the company I work for set up a high-technology bio-engineering laboratory just in the outskirts of the university. There we conducted test on the vaccine on pigs, since the pigs are fairly affordable compared to chimpanzees, and closer to the human physiology than mice. For the first month, we were getting all our desired results, we tested the vaccine on swine and got very little side-effects. Just a little flu-like symptoms which can be cured by advanced ordinary medicine. However, I did not know that time that some members of our staff at Nueva Ecija were doing some things behind my back. Instead of disposing the pigs we used up like I told them to, a couple of Filipino employees were selling the discarded test subjects to lechon stands, the nearby public markets, and some to backyard pig farmers. When I learned that, I fired them but it was already too late. I found out later on that the side effect of the vaccine was not ordinary flu, afterall.


The side-effect is what I have come to known as the Progenitor virus, also known as the Founder or Mother virus, and is the first of the mutagenic viruses I have discovered since then, and the basis for all of the ones that followed. The Progenitor virus produces rapid and uncontrollable mutation in a host's genetic code, but the mutations were not coordinated enough to produce effective and controllable effects. In hosts with a genetic structure less complex than humans, mutations are less pronounced, and usually restricted to photosensitivity coupled with increases in size and aggression.


(Mutations? Photosensitivity? Increases in size and aggression? WTF?!?)


Shinji continued: I also found out that our Japan counterparts have succeeded in creating the Tyrant or "T" virus at the Soka University Facility on March 12, 2007 through synthesis of the Progenitor virus and leech DNA. Through this synthesis, the photosensitivity of the early Progenitor strain was replaced with pyrosensitivity, a property that can be seen in most of the series' enemies. The T virus allegedly operates similarly to most other viruses, but also has the abilities to reanimate dead tissue, to substantially mutate its host, and to infect nearly any tissue in any type of host. It animates dead tissue by killing and replacing any mitochondria in infected cells, and then combining with these cells to produce enough energy for motor and lower brain functions. By doing this, most of the body's systems, such as the circulatory or respiratory systems, are made redundant. However, this process has the drawback of severe necrosis in the host, and produces the distinctive rotted appearance of most test subjects. The mutations are produced when the virus incorporates itself into the host's genetic code and considerably alters it. Creatures with genetic structures different than humans generally show less severe mutations, and usually only increase in size. I further learned that the Japan facility were experimenting on people. But don't worry, they told me that they only use Koreans and sometimes filthy Arabs.


As a side effect of the virus' consumption of its host, specifically its digestion of the host's frontal lobes, all hosts suffer from increased aggression. The virus also damages the hypothalamus, which results in a flood of neurotransmitters, enzymes, and hormones which induce a psychopathic rage and hunger in the host. The Tyrant or T virus was further developed in our labs in Mexico, since the cost of running our operation there is cheaper compared to Japan, and come to think of it, Mexican test-subjects are really like Koreans and Arabs: cheap and disposable. Human test-subjects are disposed of in the proper manner everytime, after all. All those N1H1 casualty reports seen at CNN are not caused by the virus but of the highly effective human-subject diposal drug which the company developed to make it look like a death which originates from a massive influenza seizure.


(Psychopathic rage and hunger?!? Human-testing and disposal?!? I almost spilled my drink in disbelief)


Things went seriously wrong after the first quarter of this year. Some Americans were infected by a modified strain of the T virus from an infected pig. Some drunk kid from Anaheim apparently copulated with the swine in our facility in Cancun and later on infected most people staying in the hotel he was staying in. The recent reports about N1H1 are all about the weak variant of the T virus. The T virus however, has the capacity to evolve over time. I have told you in the beginning of my story that we were developing a vaccine designed to stunt the development if the HIV virus 1,000 times, right? The T virus is just the same. If it takes a normal flu virus 3 days to incubate, the T virus, however weak it is will evolve into its mature form at 1,000 times the slower than the speed of a normal flu virus, or 3,000 days. In short, those infected today with the so-called N1H1 virus will become similar to movie zombies about 3,000 days from the time they first contracted the infection. That is the reason why despite 70+ infections of "N1H1" in this country has been reported, no one yet has died. 3,000 days from now, not only will these people will die, but they will become the undead. Within 5 years, the restof the world will be infected, and within 15 to 20 years, those who have not developed a natural immunity to the T virus will either become dead or undead. So good luck to you, kaibiganu."


Shinji left the bar but not without paying for my bill along with his own. About 10 seconds after he left, I pulled out my cellphone from my jacket pocket and called God.


Me: "Hello, uhm, God, being omniscient and all, can you tell me if the crazy shit, er, I mean stuff the Japanese dude told me was true?"


God: "The things he said, my son, are NOTHING BUT A LOAD OF CRAP."


Me: "Oh. Ok, later God. Thanks." After punching in the "end call" button, I realized something nothing short of an ephiphany: Such is my belief of God. I always believe in everything he says to me. Everything else is just a load of crap.

Talk to me like I'm six years old

Never assume anything about anybody. That is the greatest lesson I've learned when it comes to people relations. Assume nothing and you'll hurt less people. More often than not, one gets offended if you assume that he/she knows something but in fact, he/she doesn't. For example, if I talk to someone for the first time about a '92 to '95 Honda Civic, I won't say EG right away, and assume that they know that it's the chasis code for that particular model. The person I am talking to might not know what I am talking about and if he doesn't have too much courage for learning, he/she might be lost in the conversation. My tendency, however, perhaps hardwired into my training as a lawyer, is to inform my partner in the conversation, that a '92 to '95 Honda Civic, is an EG. And since I am really into Honda Civics, I might tell him that the '88-'91 model is the EF, the '96 to '00 is the EK, the '01 to '05 is the ES (for the sedan, EP for the hatchback), and the current model is the FD. People, however, as I have just recently realized, may not be as interested as me in knowing these little things. Some people are at bliss in their ignorance. Some people just don't care about Honda Civics. Just like how I don't care too much about say, cros-stitching. It is my weakness, perhaps to be over-explanatory. So please, if you already know what I'm talking about, or even if you just don't want to hear the Britannica explanation, please tell me to stop, I don't really care. A caveat as always, however, "little knowledge is a very dangerous thing."

As so, I expect people to talk to me in the simplest way as possible, I always ask questions for clarification if there is need to do so. If I get it the first time, I ask for the details. I'm not that slow, I just want to be sure of everything every single fucking time. To a litigant, if I tell him/her that a certain document needs to be notarized, if I really care for the welfare of that client, or if he seems not to be sure about the reason behind such action, I will explain to him or her, the basis why the document needs to be notarized, beyond the fact that it's legally required. In law school, when you answer a question profounded by your professor in recitation, after your answer, your professor will ask "What's your basis in saying this?" or "What do you think is the reason behind that provision?" Being a lawyer, I have acquired that kind of mindframe, to explain everthing I say. Be it good or bad, or even distasteful or just plain boring, I have chosen such way and will not change it for whoever Pontius Pilate who thinks otherwise.

"Hey have you seen the new Spoon FD-2? The ones with the 18"s and the completely new ECU?"

Haters raise your hands if you have no idea what I am talking about. Don't blame me if I talk to you like you're in fucking pre-school. You are just goddam insecure because I know something you don't.

*BTW, Spoon is Spoon Sports is an engine tuner and parts manufacturer specializing in cars made by Honda Motor Company. 18"s are 18-inch (diameter) wheels, FD-2 is the chasis code for the Japan Domestic Market only 2008 Honda Civic Type-R, and ECU is an electronic control unit, also called a control module, is an embedded system that controls one or more of the electrical systems or subsystems in a vehicle.

With great power

We were sent home early today. Because of the flood. I don't know who sent us home at 2:00 o'clock, but I didn't care. Glad to be out of the office as early as possible as I had nothing to do the whole day there. At least, for today. I had one scheduled hearing this morning but I cancelled and reset the same. There was no proof of notice to the plaintiff's counsel. It's an old civil case. Something about land somewhere. I didn't pay too much attention.

Last night I drank solo. Three bottles of San Mig Premium. But the thing is, as much as I love drinking that brew, it tasted different last night. The taste was somewhat more bitter. Perhaps it's because I was drinking alone. No fuckin' wild-ass revelry while I take in my brew. Match it with the goddam annoying drizzle outside. The Japs say that sake tastes different depending on who drinks it and the emotional and spiritual well-being of the drinker. Sake changes taste too when the Sakura (cherry blossom) is in bloom. But perhaps the real reason my beer tasted a bit bitter last night was because it was not too cold. A lukewarm beer for a lukewarm day. I miss my lovely wife and handsome kid. I wish it was Friday already.

I miss my friends too. Not in the gay or sentimental sort of way (sheez), but I miss those fuckin' knuckle-heads. Mandy and his mafia stories. Ato and his own adventures. Jonel and the fuckin' NPA shit he denies being involved with. Pareng Jeremy, who's like a brother to me. Damn, where in Satan's toe-nails are you people? These days, I often share my drinks with motherfuckin' old folks (trans: old lawyers) who think they know everything about anything. Sometimes it's fun, as I enjoy the entertainment of a braggart running his mouth off, but sometimes it gets to you, like Pacquiao says, you know?

Speakin' of Pacquiao, while on the drive to work the other day, I heard the funniest thing coming out of his light-welterweight-champion-of-the-world-pound-for-pound-the-best-fighter-in-the-world mouth. Manny was being interviewed by Mike Enriquez at DZBB (594 AM) and it went something like this:

Mike Enriquez: "Manny, marami na bang nag-iimbita sa'yo dito sa Pililipinas...sa mga piyesta-piyesta, sa mga iba't-ibang okasyon...pupuntahan mo ba ang mga 'yon, Manny?"

Manny Pacquiao: "Responsibilidad natin yan, Mike. You know, with great power, comes great ponsibility." Failing to quote Spider-Man successfully.

Mike: "Ano 'yun, Manny, with great, ano? Paki-ulit nga Manny, para sa mga nakikinig sa programa natin..."

Manny: "With great power, comes great ponsibility....res...responsibility." The champ finally realized, but it's too late, he was live on air.

Funny shit likes this gets me through the daily grind.

Until she opens her mouth

Sometimes you see a broad and instantly think, "Damn, what would I give to have that chick!"
Well, I used to. I'm married now, so I'm happy with what I've got going on with my wife and our wonderful kid, Justis Andres.

I know you know what I'm talking about, though. Sometimes you meet a girl, and you think she's the girl of your dreams. The big one. The future mother of your children, and grandmother to your grandkids. Until she opens her mouth. Think: Maryel Rodriges. Damn that girl is insanely hot. Until she opens her mouth. She's boses kiki. Too vulgar. Too cheap. IMHO, about 90% of all women are like that in the eyes of men. Too vulgar. Too cheap.

I know this post will get a reaction from my good friend Mandy to the effect that he can't avoid to say: "You ain't fuck the mouth, cabron." Well, sometimes you do. Kidding aside, we men as we grow older tend to lower our expectations when it comes to women. Well, at least those of us who has taste to begin with. I know some men who will try to fuck anything with a skirt. We lower our standards because we grow up. We eventually accept women for what they are. Inevitably, some guy will be a ble to accept Maryel's big fucking mouth and marry her. If she's lucky. As for me, I wanted a girl with class and I got one. I wanted a conservative gal who won't fuck around even if she had the chance and I got her. Someone I don't have to end up killing. You have to know what you want. Sex isn't everything as pleasing as it may sound. If you're through with the sex, and there's nothing more, find your way out.

MALAS (Mandatory Legal Aid Service)

I've spent (read:wasted) my afternoon in a symposium sponsored by my local IBP (integrated Bar of the Philippines) chapter which talked about this new rule, otherwise known as Bar Matter No. 2012, which requires all practicing lawyers to render a minimum of sixty (60) hours of free legal aid services to indigent litigants in a year. The rule also requires those lawyers who do not lucratively practice law and have chosen public service by dedicating their precious time as government servants (think:slaves) to pay PhP2,0000.00 every year. I know that the Supreme Court never makes a mistake, and if it does, it becomes part of the legal system, but if you ask me what do I really think of this rule, I'd tell you that I think this rule is full of shit. So don't ask me. Please.

The practice of law is not a trade. It is not a job. It is not a craft. It is not business. It is a vocation not unlike that of preisthood. With this in mind, the act of rendering free legal aid to indigents is a moral duty of every lawyer. In fact, if there is a universal ethical rule between all lawyers all over the world, it is the duty of the lawyer to provide its services to the needy. To my mind, the act of compelling a lawyer to render free legal aid service is an insult to lawyers everywhere. All lawyers who understand that it is their duty to offer their services free from cost and are already doing so should be abhorred by this rule. On the other hand, those unscroupulous men (and women) who call themselves lawyers but do not have pro bono cases in their portfolio are the ones who are going to be very vocal about this new rule.

In principle, the rule is sound enough. However, the framing is less than perfect. It twists and maligns the definition of the term "practice of law" as defined by jurisprudence in Cayetano v. Monsod (201 SCRA 210, 1991). It gives a new defenition to practicing lawyers.

Sec. 4(a) Practicing lawyers are members of the Philippine Bar who appear for and in behalf of parties in courts of law and quasi-judicial agencies, including but not limited to the National Labor Relations Commission, National Conciliation and Mediation Board, Department of Labor and Employment Regional Offices, Department of Agrarian Reform Adjudication Board and National Commission for Indigenous Peoples.

The term “practicing lawyers” shall exclude:

(i) Government employees and incumbent elective officials not allowed by law to practice;

(ii) Lawyers who by law are not allowed to appear in court;

(iii) Supervising lawyers of students enrolled in law student practice in duly accredited legal clinics of law schools and lawyers of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and peoples’ organizations (POs) like the Free Legal Assistance Group who by the nature of their work already render free legal aid to indigent and pauper litigants and

(iv) Lawyers not covered under subparagraphs (i) to (iii) including those who are employed in the private sector but do not appear for and in behalf of parties in courts of law and quasi-judicial agencies.

As the newsboy in the old Superman shouts all the time, just : "Read all about it!" For I'm too sick of writing about it.

Goddamit. Sayang PhP2,000.00 ko. LOL.

The inevitable Ded Pylon (LOL) post

Everyone is talking about Ded Pylon. Who the fuck is that guy? Is he worth the airtime? Any of us who have watched television over the past ten (10) years have surely seen that chicken shit reporter/news anchor. But who the fuck is he, really? From my standpoint, he is nobody. A fuckin' law school drop-out. A man who talks the talk but can't really walk the walk. He has no balls, IMHO. Funny thing is he's in deep shit right now. His wife is dead, and apparently she squandered millions, and he's the number one suspect in the killing. And oh yeah, there is a killing. I don't buy any of that guacamole shit they're selling on TV. You know, the suicide crap they're peddling to the masses. I'm not saying that I know this fool killed his old lady, but I believe that he's not saying everything he knows about the "incident."

Everyone including the nasty-ass Korean shitheads in my neighborhood are talking about that goofball and the recent incident which happened in his life so I'll jump in the bandwagon, so to speak.

Five points.

First, an innocent man whose wife had just suffered a critical gunshot wound does not automatically conclude that it was an attempt at suicide and will not contact the authorities ASAP. The damned man even refuses to show his cellphone. More probable than not, Pylon has a line subscription, and whether or not he's telling the truth about calling her at the time he claimed he did will be known. Unless the Globe or Smart people will fix things up for Mr. Dickhead.

Second, when suspected, the innocent man shall not decline to take any polygraph test if he has nothing to hide. While the lie detector bullshit can be mastered by the skilled spy, to the general populace, I still think it's a fair indicator of truth or falsehood.

Third, a 9mm, caliber .380 semi-automatic pistol, such as the weapon of choice in this case is hard to cock. It has a stiff slide and ordinarily, women of a small built such as Mrs. Pylon, cannot cock the damn thing. Maybe 'twas left cocked and loaded. Then again, maybe someone else cocked the goddamned pistol and gave it to Mrs. Pylon for her to shoot herself with in the head. Maybe, someone else beside herself shot her. Maybe the one who shot her was Elvis Fuckin' Presley. Maybe God told the shooter in an ephiphany to shoot Mrs. Pylon. Maybe. One too many. One thing is for sure, though. It is Pylon's sissy-stainless Walther PPK pistol.

Fourth, everyone in the household at that time told the media and the fuckin' police that nobody heard the damn pistol going off. Nobody fuckin' heard the goddamn gunshot. A .380 ain't a BB gun. If fired inside a bathroom, however insulated that damn room may be, the shot from that gun will be heard.

Fifth, all that cleaning and mopping up shit that the household helpers did at the bathroom. Likewise, the cleaning up of the bloodied vehicle by the driver. Talk about cleaning up after your shit. This leads me to think that the killing was not planned. Therefore, the same was accidental or in the heat of passion. What's that phrase? With passion and obfuscation.

And don't get me started on Gonzales and Acosta. Both are disgraces to the legal profession in my book.

Let's move on to more productive topics. Please. For the love of God.

Believe me, Trust me

Little Mike "Mario Puzo wannabe" Winegardner made Corleone consigliere Thomas Hagen say in his books the following inadvertently interesting lines: Never trust any one who says "trust me." Do not believe any one who says "believe me."

Only shoe-salesmen and barbers have the right to say those words. I don't even trust shoe-salesmen, or any salesman as a matter of fact. If you let a suit guy talk you into buying a thousand-dollar suit, you're a sucker. No Armani or Brooks Brothers is worth it. A good and seasoned tailor with no name can make one even better at half or even a third of the price. But whatever you do, don't fuckin wear an RTW/off-the-rack pants/jacket ensembles unless your body is abnormally perfect anatomy-wise as those male manequins we all see inside mall windows. Even if its a Ralph or Hugo Boss. You're nine out of ten better off with a fitted suit. If you're in NCR or Central Luzon, have it done at Exclusively HiS tailoring. I've been wearing their nicely-tailored shit since I was on my first year in UST High. Otherwise, you might end up looking like an old 80's movie actor with a badly fitted amerikana. Come to think of it, the only people I saw who carried their suits well during that time were anchorman Harry Gasser and character actor Eddie Garcia. All other shitheads like Tommy Abuel, Rico Puno, Dindo Fernando, Jay Ilagan, Christopher de Leon, Gabby Concepcion and all of the other celebrites of that bygone era looked like clowns. They probably bought their stupid jackets at a discount store at Hong Kong anyway, since the Jackie Chan of old looked equally ridicuous in a coat and tie.

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Moving on...Priests, Ministers, Imams, or whateverthefuckelsehaveyou are perrenially guilty of this sin of saying "believe." Believe our Bible, believe our church, believe the Koran, etc., et-fuckin' cetera. IMHO, these twats are in league with con-men, and all other breeds of estafa artists. They sell the rarest comodity in this uncertain life: certainty--of salvation, of life after death, of reincarnation, of the existence of gods, devils, and saints of whatever name and form.

My father, when I was growing up, has on more than one occassion told me that "If you want to be a rich man, become a lawyer. If you want to become a richer man, become a doctor. If you want to become one of the richest men in the country, organize your own religion." In that aforementioned sequence, the number of lies told increase exponentially, and dirctly proportional to the wealth to be amassed. Think Velarde, Soriano, and not to mention the greatest organized syndicate of all time, The Roman Catholic Church.

Men fear incarceration, but they fear illness more. Nevertheless, men fear most the risk of eternal damnation. So while men pay lawyers, they pay the doctors more. And the pay the religious the most. Take a look at the Iglesia ni Cristo and their ikapu system, and several other sects and cults too insignificant to name in this post, their "flock" apportion a nice fraction of their income for their chuch and get absolutely nothing in return. If that is not a hugely profitable business, I don't know what is. I might just organize my own and call it Iglesia ni Batman. Reuben Ecleo almost succeeded in his PBMA shit during the 90's but the damn sick fucker took it way too far. He actually sold his piss in small vials and marketed it as "healing miracle oil." No shit. Way to go, dickhead.

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Belief should be based on knowledge, and trust should emmanate from reason. Don't just believe me blindly, and don't trust me without seeing reason in what I exclaim. Why be a lamb when you can be a wolf?

The Godfather Returns

There is this one guy named Mike Winegardner, who wrote a couple of books based on the Holy Bible for wiseguys (The Godfather by the late great Mario Puzo)--aptly titled The Godfather Returns and The Godfather's Revenge. I know some of you might already heard of it since these books are advertised at the back inside cover of the new editions of Don Puzo's monumental classic.

Anyway, ( came to know of their existence when I purchased two (2) The Godfather books in paperback as gifts for my father and my own (and one and only) godfather for christmas last year. Both of them have already read the novel when it first came out 'round more than thirty (30) years back, and both of them have seen all the silverscreen renditions bearing the same title, but for one reason or another, both of them are not in possession of the book before i gave them copies of the same for the holidays. Them books are relatively cheap and I was sure they'd appreciate the gesture.

I saw these Mike Whatshisfacegardner books and immediately as I picked up the first one (The Godfather Returns) one thing came into my mind like a jolt: The title surely lacks imagination. Think Batman. Even Superman. Sheez. At its back cover, it read: It is 1955. Michael Corleone has won a bloody victory in the war among New York's crime families. Now he wants to onsolidate his power, save his marriage, and take his family into legitimate businesses... With just seeing the mention of the name Michael Corleone, I found myself taking it to the cashier and paying for it.

When I came home, I started to read my own copy of The Godfather and after a couple of days, I finished it and decided to read Returns. I actually read the latter with a pen in my hand--encircling shit like corny words and writing notes on its margins. I wasn't reading it for fun ab initio, and at page nineteen (19)-the end of Chapter 1-I wrote, and I copy it here, to wit: The first chapter has some inconsistensies, the most glaring of which was Nick Geraci's "first" beat-em-up job...directed against Amerigo Bonasera's daughter's assailants. That (event) took place well after the Second Great War, as old man Bonasera only came to Don Corleone at Connie's wedding. Later, however, the author mentions something to the effect that Geraci started to learn the rackets before the war and later, during the same under (Caporegime) Tessio. Weird. It also pains me to read that the author skips time without warning, thus confusing the logic of the reader. He even mentioned (the drug) Viagra, despite the title of Book 1 being "Spring 1955." . . .not to mention that he (the author) refers to Don Corleone as plain Vito.

And on the beginning of Chapter 3, Winegardner (the author) wrote: Near the oily banks of the Detroit River, two lumpy men in silk short-sleeve shirts--one aquamarine, the other Day-Glo orange--emerged from the guest cottege...etc., etc..

Upon reading that, I scribbled again: Only women and queers can distinguish colors with such precision. Aquamarine and light-green is the same to the straight-laced heterosexual masculine. What the hell is Day-Go orange, anyway? Now these parts really wonder about the sexual orientation of the author :)

I put down my pen after writing this, and started to casually read the book. Like one would read a John Grisham. "For entertainment purposes only". I grew tired of playing Mythbusters with Winegardner, so I went along with his take on the mighty, yet dysfunctional, Corleones.

To be continued. . .

i just saw "There will be Blood. . ."

"I am a false prophet. God is a superstition." Daniel Plainview, the Oilman, made the Rev. Eli Sunday say this in the 2007 Oscar arward winning movie, There will be Blood...

I always liked Daniel Day Lewis, especially when he played William "Bill the Butcher" Cutting on Gangs of New York. If I haven't seen Gangs, I might've concluded that his portrayal of the Daniel Plainview character in There will be Blood was the best I've seen him act. To my mind however, while he gave a splendid performance on Blood, Lewis just reprised his "Bill the Butcher" persona into Daniel Plainview. The Oilman could've held a huge meat cleaver and shouted "Wupsidaisy!"

In general, however, I still like this movie. Somewhat Artsy-Fartsy but with balls. It exposes a man's weakness towards anti-sociality. I also learned that one shot with a teeny-weeny .22 can kill a man, if aimed right. Also, I would never look at a bloody bowling pin the same way again. Ever.

See it too, it's worth the knock-off DVD's price.

Pimpin' with San Mig and the Almighty

I had a few drinks with God the other day. He texted me and told me to meet Him at RedMix (props to the proprietor, Dada Ong!)--a novel local little joint where the hip (them) and not-so-hip (us) crowd get aquainted. I was late. As usual. My lolo of sorts, Atty. STA, gave me a long and boring-as-hell sermon about time management a few weeks back, and here I come again, late with an appointment with the Almighty Father. Sheez.


When I arrived, God was sitting with someone else and seemed to be halfway through his second bottle of San Miguel Premium All Malt Beer. I also saw in their table some sizzling 'shrooms. Yummy. I haven't ate since morning, and it's already thirty minutes past my 3:00 'o clock appointment with the Creator. So I approached their table and made my prescence known.


Me: "Hey, God, what's going on...Uhm, I'm sorry I'm late." Although I really wasn't. I'm really getting tired of following God's every command. "Be here, do this, do that, etc., et fuckin cetera.."


God: "..." He meant, "Sit down my son, order a drink." Remember, God doesn't need to move His Holy mouth in order for you and me to understand what He wants to say. You just understand, like a command from your brain to your pinky toe.


Me: "So my Lord, who's this rocker-type dude?" I meant and motioned towards the skinny tall feller who was drinking with God, who by the way, looks like Ozzy during the late sixties--except the clothes of course. This guy dresses more like Rico-goddam-Blanco. Fit muscle shirts with very little muscle. The guy was drinking San Mig Light--a beer I can't stand for its wateriness.


God: "Do you not know him, child?" Damn it, here we go again. Would I ask if I already know? Getting to know God sometimes is a drag. It always seem that you know very little compared to Him. It's like his knowledge is the ocean and yours is capable of being held in a small pail.


Me: "Uhm, No...my Lord and dear Savior." I answered. Just to continue the flow of the nature of things. I feinted curiousity, God fulfills my heart with answers to every question.


God: "Introduce yourself, brother." God said to the young Ozzy.


Young Ozzy: "Call me Migs pare." He said in a Corinthian/Forbes accent. Then and there, I knew that this fella is Achangel St. Michael, who vanquished Satan into the depths of hell with his great Ishmaelan sword. Migs, short for San Miguel.


Me: (shaking Migs' hand) "Jorge po, boss." Migs' hands felt like cold marble. Not unlike the kind they use for mausoleums.


God: "So what are you having?" God asked me, while magicking a waiter to appear in a blink of an eye before us. God is that impatient.


Me: "Premium, of course." San Mig Premium is probably the best tasting beer in the whole damn world.


Migs: "Wala ba tayong, Chicks pare? Its so boring if its just the three of us guys here drinkin'. Classic na looser trip, 'di ba? And we're not loosers, right, pare?"


Me: "Wala boss eh. Teka, baka I could call someone and introduce her you..." I scrambled for my cellphone and browsed for some straggler cell-numbers of girls past. I know I have erased most of them since my wife doesn't like them too much.


God: "Try that, and I'm going to do the same. I just have to get my cellphone from the car." Upon saying that, the driver-side door of a crystal-black Mercedes-Benz CLK 300 magically opened and out came flying a cellphone towards the hands of God. Cool car, I thought. God always have the coolest shit.

And there they came, out of thin air, three (3) insanely beautiful girls wearing seemingly identical little black dresses. It reminded me of the fact that God was also called "The Creator."

When they approached however, I was stunned. One of them was my lovely little wife.

"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed out loud, in disbelief and amazement at the same time.

"You shall not commit adultery." said God, "Do you not remember, my child, that is one of my commandments? Michael, basa."

Migs read a passage from a bible, which, yes, you'vve guessed it, magically appeared out of thin air: "Exodus 20:2–17, I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery...etc., etc.."

"We'll I'd be damned!"

My Cousin Bot's Rules for Women

We always hear "the rules" from the female side. Now here are the rules from the male side. These are our rules!Please note ... these are all numbered "1" ON PURPOSE!

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Birthdays, Valentines, and Anniversaries are not quests to see if we can find the perfect present yet again!

1. Sometimes we are not thinking about you. Live with it.

1. Sunday equals sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

1. Don't cut your hair. Ever. Long hair is always more attractive than short hair. One of the big reasons guys fear getting married is that married women always cut their hair, and by then you're stuck with her.

1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

1. Crying is blackmail.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

1. We don't remember dates. Mark birthdays and anniversaries on a calendar. Remind us frequently beforehand.

1. Most guys own three pairs of shoes, tops. What makes you think we'd be any good at choosing which pair, out of thirty, would look good with your dress?

1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

1. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

1. Check your oil! Please.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

1. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.

1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

1. Let us ogle. We are going to look anyway, it's genetic.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions, and neither do we.

1. The relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out. Get over it. And quit whining to your girlfriends.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

1. We are not mind readers and we never will be. Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

1. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really !!!

1. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as navel lint, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

1. It is neither in your best interest or ours to take the quiz together. No, it doesn't matter which quiz.

1. BEER is as exciting for us as handbags are for you.

1. I'm in shape. ROUND is a shape.

1. Thank you for reading this, Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight, but did you know we really don't mind that, it's like camping.

Yes, I do renounce him

Today, I stood before the Church altar once more and stood as godfather to one of my nephews. Michael's son, whom he named Dime Evo-of all names. Dime, perhaps short for Dimebag (Darrell) of PanterA fame, and Evo, I'm not so sure. Maybe Evo came from the Mitsubishi rallye car, but I'm not so sure Mike knows shit when it comes to cars.

As the ceremony was going on, I can't help but hear in my head the "tun-nun-tun-tun-nun-nun-nun-nu-nu-nun" theme from The Godfather. I also imagined all my enemies getting whacked that very moment. Not to mention that I had a hard on all the fuckin' time with all the fine broads that attended this sort.

The day Saint Valentine died

According to the Legenda Aurea , St Valentine refused to deny Christ before the "Emperor Claudius"in the year 280. Before his head was cut off, this Valentine restored sight and hearing to the daughter of his jailer. He's one regular stubborn hard-ass like all the other saints. At least, that's his official Catholic Story--another martyr who died in the name of Jesus H. Christ.

The Legenda does not contain anything about hearts and last notes signed "from your Valentine", as is sometimes suggested in modern works of sentimental piety. Valentine's Day is a holiday celebrated on February 14 by many people throughout the world. In the West, it is the traditional day on which lovers express their love for each other by sending Valentine's cards, giving flowers , or offering sweets like chocolate. While the day was originally a pagan festival that was named after the Early Christian named Valentinus, the day became associated with romance in the circle of sentimentalists like Chaucer in the late middle ages, when the tradition of courting flourished. The day is most closely associated with the mutual exchange of love notes in the form of "valentines."

Modern Valentine symbols include the heart-shaped outline, doves, and the figure of the winged Cupid. Since the 19th century, handwritten notes have largely given way to mass-produced greeting cards. The sending of Valentines was a fashion in nineteenth-century Great Britain, and, in 1847, Esther Howland developed a successful business in her Worcester, Massachusetts home with hand-made Valentine cards based on British models. The popularity of Valentine cards in 19th-century America was a harbinger of the future commercialization of holidays in the United States (wiki).

Like Christmas, Valentine's day is another pagan holiday turned Christian festival turned commercial enterprise. Who cares about the life of that Saint Valentine? Kids think that the cherub Cupid is Valentine anyway. To the older kids, Valentine's day is a log line at the court owned by a certain lady named Victoria. Coincidentally, Valentine's day is also the birth anniversary of my father-in-law. Another day, same shit.

The true Mafia

This afternoon, after coming home from a week-long seminar sponsored by the Judiciary which goals were apparently to inform me on stuff that I already know, I turned on the tele and see what's cookin' on the early evening news. Sure enough, it's still the "LPG Crisis." Womenfolk from Gabriela (an ND [nationalist democratic ] organization of women similar to that of the KMU [Kilusang Mayo Uno], Boyoyong Clowns, etc.) were making a racket with pots and pans in front of the DOE (Department of Energy) building. These ladies (and some men) were also throwing rotten tomatoes at a makeshift DOE emblem and at the latter's center were the faces of GMA (Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo) and Energy Secretary Ret. Gen. Angelo Reyes. The news clip was as funny as a cold day in hell.

Earlier this morning, while I was taking a dump, I was reading the hotel-provided Manila Bulletin. Of course, one can only read the Bulletin while sitting on top a toilet bowl. On its head line was something like "NO LPG CRISIS: Says DOE Chief." The line said it all though. There was no real story, just a goddam quote from a dumb guy who happened to be at the right place at the right time. Secretary Reyes--the unofficial spokesman for the Big Three-- is perhaps the dumbest person ever to hold the position of Cabinet Secretary. Save perhaps maybe, Tito Sotto. Even wacky senator Mirriam Defensor-Santiago is insanely unhappy with his performance, or more accurately, the lack thereof.

The problem with LPG is fairly simple and yet one of the most difficult ones facing our little economy. LPG, or Liquefied Petroleum Gas, is a generic commodity. It is an everday fuel we use in our stoves instead of our cars. Meaning, in like manner, it won't really matter if we use Caltex (Chevron), Shell, Petron, PTT, Red Oil, or UniOil in our cars, as long as we use the prescribed formulation (Diesel, Unleaded, or Premium) by our car's manufacturers. Our stoves at homes won't explode if we use Liquigaz this month and Shellane or Gasul in the next. As long as it is LPG, it would be fine and will still cook our food. Again, LPG is a generic commodity, like water and electricity.

One of the supposed benefits of the Oil Deregulation Law (otherwise known as REPUBLIC ACT NO. 8479 AN ACT DEREGULATING THE DOWNSTREAM OIL INDUSTRY AND FOR OTHER PURPOSES) was opportunity for middle-class Filipino businessmen to participate in the petroleum business. Section 2 of the said law provides: "It shall be the policy of the State to liberalize and deregulate the downstream oil industry in order to ensure a truly competitive market under a regime of fair prices, adequate and continuous supply of environmentally-clean and high-quality petroleum products." But to this date, this is just a pipe-dream. The market is still monopolized by the Big Three, the Tatlong Itlogs, or namely Caltex (now Chevron), Shell, and Petron. How do they do it? By keeping government people in their pockets and the police and military under their strings. They are the true strongest families in the Philippines.

The tatlong itlogs have blindfolded the Filipino LPG consumer with campaigns that misinform the public of the true nature of LPG. They market LPG as a brand commodity. They have made us believe that this product is like Coke or Pepsi, Adiddas or Nike, or Technomarine or Tag Heuer. By manipulating the legislature, these big oil companies have created an indestructible legal armor which protects this wrong notion/belief/idea on the nature of LPG. And as brand name products, they are, in the crossed-eyed eyes of Philippine Commercial Law, under the protection of infringement/patent/trademark laws. Think of the Philippines is the Cuban Dream of Michael Corleone and the paradise of a reality to the Big Three.

Many middle-class Filipino businessmen, supposedly publicly represented by the LPGMA (LPG Marketers Association) have entered the LPG market as bulk refillers or in other words, wholesalers of LPG. They cater to the needs of even smaller-scale businessmen who sell LPG in 11 kilogram tanks retail to you and me. These retailers operate their business by investing on LPG tank containers and then selling them to the public individually. It is of common knowledge that when a household buys, it surrenders their own empty tank together with cash in exchange of the tank filled with LPG. Now, these retailers, as it is in every free market, think of every strategy to earn. Some are unscrupulous and underload their supposedly 11 kgs. tank with 10.5 or even 10 kgs. Yet, some are still honest traders. No kidding.

Nevertheless, honest or otherwise, these retailers all face an inevitable dilemma: If they carry only Brand P, or brand P or C but not brand S, and the household consumer's empty tank is the latter brand, will they accept the empty S cylinder in exchange of the P or C brand LPG filled cylinder? In almost all cases, the retailer does not have a choice. In an atmosphere of stiff, if not cutthroat competition, an entrepreneur cannot afford to lose even one loyal customer in order for the business to thrive. Repeat this situation 365 times and within a year, the retailers' cylinders are a mix of brands P, C, S, and as a result of the Oil Deregulation law, even less-known, but as safe and reliable others such as Bayan Gas, or Tiger, or Elxia, or Liquex.

Here comes the true problem: At the beginning, these retailers have their fill of cylinders from usually one source, either from C, or P, or S. But since they now have a collection of tanks/cylinders that look like a box of primary crayons when arranged in their truck, C or P and S will not accept cylinders/tanks other than their own brands. What to do, what to do!

Here comes an independent bulk refiller. In accordance with reason, he choses to refill these assortment of LPG and thinks he makes honest profit from his business. However, this practice was made malum prohibitum by our unreasonable statutes. As a consequence, these independent bulk refillers are constantly plagued with coercion to bribery, harrassment, extortion, and worst, raids by different "lawful" agencies--on the basis of a very reliable report, of course, by "concerned citizens" who always happen to be paid by either one of the tatlong itlogs.

It does not take one to be of the caliber of the economist J.M. Keynes to realize that: When there are less independent refillers, there would be less supply of LPG. When there is less supply of LPG, the Big Three can control/manipulate the price. When the price is manipulated, they go nowhere but up. hen the prices go sky-rocketing, the people suffer. And when the people suffer, they watch more TV to forget their suffering. And when they watch TV, they see the government saying there is no problem, and "everything will normalize soon.".

Our laws, especially those which have something to do with business, instead of fostering an environment that promote and nurture free competition and entrepreneurial growth, discourage the same and strangles the middle-class businessman before he can become rich so he can become poor again. In short, our commercial laws are designed to keep Filipinos poor. Poor as rats in the sewers of old Quiapo.

But laws, by themselves, however twisted and unreasonable they may be, cannot make people poor. The government (technically, the administration) does. During my short lifetime, there has been as many "Special Presidential Task Forces" and "Committees/Fact Finding Commissions/Investigating Panels on everything under the Philippine sun" as there are craters in the moon. They are, however, all designed with the same vile end in mind, to protect the big businesses which keep the rich richer and the pockets of those filthy alligators and snakes in the government fatter and their hands greasier.

A few months ago, this one government official, whose name and face will be forgotten as soon as the tenure of his little lady boss expires, as leader of the PASG (Presidetial Anti-Smuggling Gang) raided and closed down the headquaters of UniOil with their obligatory show of force through the totting of sub-machineguns and automatic rifles--on mere suspicion that the folks at UniOil were performing illegal activities because they price their gas two (2) pesos lower than the other brands! I understand that there is some "political" shades on this particular act, but the same is happenning all over the country. Those who oppose the powers that be shall be crushed by the very government who swore to protect them.

Caveat to us all who do not conspire with the forces who artificially controls the prices of goods such as petroleum-based products! This administration's messages are very clear: Don't fuck with the hands that feed. Screw Free Competition. Fuck Democracy.

And, of course, Die all poor Citizens a slow, painful death.

Hate Me All Arabs and Koreans

I was playing this stupid on-line poker game in facebook and one other player whose arabic name spelled out in western letters I can't even pronounce started typing on the shout box "phillipine fuck." I checked and found out that I was the only Filipino there in the "room." So I replied with a succint "kiss my ass, camel boy." Fuckin Arabs. George Dubya was right, they're all goddam terrorists and deserve a healthy shellacking of nukes about once or twice a week. Must be rooted in their shallow noveau religion. Damn ragheads. Without the oil in their land they don't amount to shit anyway. I for one totally agree with what the Jews are doing these days. Killing everyone who wears a fuckin' shemagh who steps into Israel. I'd do the same if some smelly camel boy start threathening my teritory. The one thing that stops me from whacking these suckers is the cheap price of the knockoff DVDs they sell. But once I buy one that doesn't work, I swear I'll shove it up his Allah worshipping ass. I swear.

Don't get me started on the Koreans. Who the fuck are these people? And why do they multiply exponentially by the day here in our over-populated little country? Andseo?!? What the hell is that? Can't they talk American? LOL. They go around in packs and talk as loud as hell. I've read somewhere that Koreans are the lousiest drivers in the world. Yes, even worse than our Capampangans. If I ever encounter one dumb Kimchi-munching Korean fuck in a street altercation, I promise, I'll shoot the motherfucka'. No kidding. Besides, them Korean shitheads are destroying the world of local golf. They make golf cheap. Goin' round in groups and exercising on the street the night before tee time. What the hell is that shit? Who does that? I know it's common knowledge but I still want to type it here: All Koreans are fuckin' cheap. Ask your friendly neighborhood GRO. Show me a Korean who isn't cheap as a bottle of Tanduay and I'll show you a donkey with three (3) dicks. Almost seventy-five (75) per cent of my neighbors are fuckin' Koreans. Our village, once upon a time called Riverside is now Korea Town. Now tell me who's the stranger here? Goddam Kimchi munchers in their cheap-ass Daewoos and Hyundais.

Tolerance is one thing but turning the other cheek is totally stupid.

Superstitions on the New Year

"But let me say this. I am a superstitious man, a ridiculous failing but I must confess it here. And so if some unlucky accident should befall my youngest son, if some police officer would accidentally shoot him, if he should hang himself in a cell, if new witnesses appear to testify to his guilt, my superstition will make me feel that it was the result of the ill will still borne me by some people here. Let me go further. If my son is struck by a bolt of lightning I will blame some of the people here. If his plane should fall into the sea or his ship sink beneath the waves of the ocean, if he should catch a mortal fever, if his automobile be struck by a train, such is my superstition that I will blame the ill will felt by people here."


-Don Vito Corleone, on superstition

Superstition (Latin superstitio, literally "standing over" derived perhaps from standing in awe; used in Latin as an unreasonable or excessive belief in fear or magic, especially foreign or fantastical ideas, and thus came to mean a "cult" in the Roman empire) is a belief or notion, not based on reason or knowledge. The word is often used to refer to supposedly irrational beliefs of others, and its precise meaning is therefore subjective. It is commonly applied to beliefs and practices surrounding luck, prophecy and spiritual beings, particularly the irrational belief that future events can be influenced or foretold by specific, unrelated behaviors or occurrences (wikipedia).

Absolutely no man in our family really believes in superstition. It is but a fool's excuse not to reason. It's worse than organized religion, as anyone could invent one or two themselves and start a craze. Sometimes, however, most people in my family do stuff which may appear to be superstitious.

Last New Year's Eve, one of my uncles (a retired police sergeant, now martello) and a small band of his crew, filled a hundred or so medium-sized grocery bags with groceries to be delivered that very night to the poor pesantes who lived in his neighborhood. These unmarked white bags were filled with about two (2) Kilos of rice, some canned goods, some noodles, and even several toiletries in sachets. As I was in the old neighborhood that day, I witnessed the scurrying about of my uncles' crew making sure each bag had the exact same contents. I said to my uncle: "What you're doing is really admirable, but I thought you do this sort of thing during the Holy Week?" "We used to, but the Church forbade it." He answered me right back. "It's an honorable thing, what you are doing." I replied, without telling an inkling of what I was truly thinking. Then I left them to go about their business.

First, I thought that the reason why the packages were unmarked is because my uncle didn't want the people to know initially where the stuff originated from. My uncle knew that while these peasants are mostly ignorant, they are seldom fools. After New Year's day have come and gone, they, by their own methods will eventually discover the source of these "gifts." And they will think that the act of concealing their origin is a great sign of humility of the benefactor. This is one of the many subtleties one must learn when dealing with the sensitive masses. They all like dole-outs and free shit and all, but charity must not be done at the expense of a poor man's dignity. These simple folk are bribed each time a local election comes but the the one who always win by bribery are not respected, much less feared, by these people. As a family, we have over the years worked carefully to gain the respect, if not fear, from the people surrounding us.

Second, I instantly recognized that the people he was using for this job are not his old-time crew who are his childhood buddies, but up-and-comers who are peasants themselves. Not young kids, but people who are also trying to win respect from their little neighborhoods, while not having the financial means and the insight to do this kind of shit themselves. By working for this uncle of mine, they are doing him a favor, for he is not paying them for this job, and as well as doing themselves a favor, for they have earned the friendship of my uncle.

Third, I had not asked but wondered about why and how exactly did the Catholic church forbade the giving of groceries during Holy Week. I dismissed this thought as a characteristic irrelevancy of my uncle. He thinks the Church to still have such power over men. When the priests in the pulpits are as crooked as the dirtiest of all politicians as they have ever been here in our insignificant Roman Catholic Archipelago. If my father, or godfather, wanted to give groceries on Holy Week, no Church can impose its will over them like they are their puppets on a string. The current Pope, after all, is no Rodrigo Borgia.

Finally, I pondered over the logic of this, "charity." It is no secret that this uncle of mine has aspirations to "public service", and my godfather the Don even offered to buy his political seat (which this uncle proudly refused to his bitter regret). Despite his recent loss, however, he managed not to go about shooting anyone. This uncle is not a rich man by any standard, but he is not poor either. Nevertheless, I know that he could hardly afford to keep his mistress and children to live the sort of extravagant lives they live, and then manage to do this, benevolent act. After all, what future favors can the family expect from these wretched families to whom he is doling-out these free shit?

As I was walking towards our own compound, the truth came flying over to my head. I remembered that since his cop days (when he was still doing this thing during the Holy Week), my uncle kept a list of well chosen "beneficiaries." They were all poorer than rats, but included in their ranks all sorts of cutthroats, stick-up boys, wranglers, informants and thieves which in the future, may or may not be of service to our family. A bag of cheap groceries every year is a ridiculously small investment for their potential usefulness and friendship. He's like an Arctic Explorer in days past, who left small packages of food behind along the way to the North Pole, thinking he might need them in case something goes bad. There is nothing superstitious about that.

The next day, New Year's Day, my godfather granted a wish. He gave me a bottle of a very expensive Blue Label Scotch, which I jokingly requested from him while we were having drinks last Christmas. Dons, after all, always keeps their word. Superstition or no Superstition.