Breeding Bulldogs

(Disclaimer: I am not a professional dog breeder of "aces"  and caused havoc in the dog world since the days of Jimmy Boots and Benny Bob, but I have bred and raised what I consider to be superior specimens that can be called true "bulldogs" by anyone  like any.)

Much has been written about breeding strategies and techniques that have been used successfully to produce ace dogs. Inbreeding, linebreeding, outcrossing, and crossbreeding are breeding strategies that all have their place in the overall breeding program. These methods, when used appropriately, offer the breeder the best chance to maintain bloodlines and to produce consistently competitive gamedogs. The breeder should keep in mind that the foundation of any breeding method is to breed physically and mentally sound studs and bitches that come from winning families.

Before I discuss breeding methods, a quick discussion of basic genetics is needed. Genetics is a very complex subject. The inheritance and expression of DNA is subject to several known and unknown mechanisms of action, of which college textbooks cover in great detail. Complex genetic interactions, the inheritance of sex-linked traits, and traits influenced by multiple genes are certainly relevant to  breeding bulldogs  but are beyond the scope of this article.

Genes are made up of pieces of DNA, which carries the information about a particular trait. The genotype is the sum of all genes present on the chromosomes. The phenotype is the appearance of the traits, a visual expression of the genotype. Genes almost always occur in pairs. This means that each stud or female has two copies of any given gene for a specific trait, one derived from the father and one from the mother. A dog that has two different genes for a specific trait is said to be heterozygous for that trait. A dog that has the same two genes for a given trait is homozygous for that trait.

Some genes and their corresponding traits are dominant or incompletely dominant and others are recessive. A dog that is heterozygous for a particular trait (has one dominant gene and one recessive gene) will generally look the same as, or similar to (incomplete dominance), to one that is homozygous dominant (has two of the same dominant genes) for that trait. Recessive genes are hidden when paired with a dominant gene. When recessive genes are in a homozygous state (both are identical), they are expressed in the phenotype. An example of this is the nose color. The gene for Black nose is dominant to the gene for black nose, meaning a black nosed dog  could have one gene for black nose (B)and one gene for red nose (r), or two genes for black nose (Bb). If two heterozygous black nosed dogs were bred together (Br x Br), the offspring would be approximately 75% black nosed [Bb or Br] and 25 % red nosed [rr] because there is a same probability that the parents will pass the black or red nose gene to the offspring. In this case, the ratio of genes in the offspring would be 1 BB: 2 Br : 1 rr. Another way to say this is that 75% of the pups would carry the dominant gene for black nose and 25% would receive a recessive red nose gene from each parent. In this case where the recessive red nose gene is in a homozygous state, it is expressed in the phenotype as red nose.

Inbreeding is the breeding of two individuals who are related to each other. Typically all dogs from the same family are related to some degree, thus inbreeding is practiced whenever we maintain a “pure” line. Linebreeding is a form of inbreeding where particularly superior individuals are used in several generations, which tends to emphasize the genetic influence of the individual in the family. Inbreeding increases the probability that the two copies of any given gene for a particular trait will be identical, or homozygous for that gene. If the stud and bitch are related, there is a chance that the two genes in the offspring are both identical copies contributed by the common ancestor. Close inbreeding uncovers hidden, often undesirable homozygous recessive genes that are carried by both parent fowl. Inbreeding depression is a term used to describe the reduction in performance caused by the expression of these recessive genes in inbred individuals. Some breeders will use this as a tool to test a new bloodline by fighting young dogs from a brother/sister mating, since this intensive form of inbreeding will quickly bring undesirable qualities to the surface such as lack of gameness.

Since mating related and phenotypically-identical individuals also tends to increase the number of homozygous dominant genes in the progeny, bulldogs become more uniform in those traits emphasized in the breeding program. Although true with any breeding system, additional care must be taken with intensive inbreeding (breeding closely related, inbred individuals). Only the very best physical specimens should be retained for maintaining the bloodline and crossing with other bloodlines. Producing these exceptional individuals require whelping and raising a lot of dogs and proper selection to increase the probability of the right genetic combination occurring in the offspring.

Increasing homozygous genes in a family through inbreeding increases the probability of producing “prepotent” individuals. Prepotency is the ability of an individual to pass their desirable dominant genes to their offspring. For this reason, prepotent individuals are extremely valuable in linebreeding systems to improve and maintain bloodlines. Although inbreeding will increase the probability of producing prepotency, in my own experience an ace crossbred bitch was prepotent. Nearly all of his pups were virtually identical to the dam, including fighting style, body shape and station, nose color, and fur color. They even sounded the same as they all had his distinctive bark.

Outcrossing is the mating of individuals within the same bloodline but having no close ancestral relationships. For example, a same-sire pair of brothers were bred into a same-sire dam, and out of them came out several pups. When the pups matured, they were fought and the best multiple time winners were selected for breeding purposes. The original dams were bred to their best sons, and the original studs were used once in the third generation in each family. For the next 8 generations, the two lines were kept separate, and the original dam and her exceptional son were bred several times in the following generations to increase their genetic contribution to each family. After 16 or so generations, the lines were bred together, resulting in an outcross. The offspring from this mating were tested and the best individuals were bred back to the separate lines. This method of breeding, along with careful selection and progeny testing, can be used to maintain pure families without introducing outside blood. Using line-bred, prepotent individuals is highly desirable when outcrossing. Think of it as crossing  Eli Jr. strains to remotely related Bullyson strains. (Example: McCool dogs to later Boudreaux dogs)

Crossbreeding occurs when two unrelated dogs are mated. Crossbred individuals have many more heterozygous dominant genes present in their genotype. In a heterozygous genotype, dominant genes mask the influence of undesirable or desirable recessive genes. Many of the most successful battlecrosses are produced from crossing two or more unrelated, inbred families of dogs. In fact, the primary reason for maintaining inbred families of dogs is to produce individuals that can be used in crossbreeding systems. This is because crossing two unrelated, inbred bloodlines often results in hybrid vigor in the offspring. Hybrid vigor, or ‘heterosis,’ is the term used when a crossbred individual outperforms the parent. Crossbreeding is widely used in commercialanimal production and has proven successful. Hybrid animals and plants tend to grow faster, be more productive and more resistant to stress and disease. Once again, it must be emphasized that the greatest degree of heterosis is seen when inbred, prepotent individuals are used as the parents.

So how does one select the bloodlines to cross? Some breeders advocate crossing dogs that complement each other, such as breeding a heavy mouth stud over game bitches, in hopes of producing the ultimate combination of desirable qualities. Others advocate breeding dogs that are similar in type and action, contending that the resulting offspring are more likely to be consistent and predictable.

In my opinion, both schools of thought are likely correct because both have proven to be successful. For example, the popular cross of various Jeep and Red Boy families clearly indicate the theory of complementary families is valid. Highly competitive crosses made up of similar families like the Bullyson and Alligator dogs prove that crossing families that have similar attributes is also effective. The success and failure of any cross is dependent upon the compatibility of the genes and the only way of knowing if the dog will be a "hit” is to breed them together and test their progeny.

While some might think that breeding outcrossed and cross-bred dogs as foundations of a yard is unsound, some two-way or 50-50 crosses nick with a third or even a fourth bloodline. Example, some of the best dogs I have ever raised were out of a JD  x Scud-Señorita stud and a JD x Linear-Señorita bitch.  Since all four of the original parent dogs are from inbred families, this 4-way cross was very consistent in appearance and style. This is something you may want to try if you have four inbred families.

All modern breeders acknowledge that the dogs used to develop today’s bloodlines were crosses. However, the successful bloodlines the great breeders in the past developed from these crosses were refined over many years through selection of superior individuals, inbreeding, testing and extensive culling.

Yours In Sport

Push this button

God is missing. At least that's what Archangel Gabriel told me the other night. I came across him while I was biking. He was riding this brilliant white Trek Remedy. I think it's a carbon-fiber front triangle 9.9 with a one-off custom finish. These celestial types always want to be unique. Anyway, he told me that nobody could get a hold of God. I told him that maybe God was just at Amsterdam in a bar somewhere there probably with Moses or Judas (His most trusted disciple) or at Vegas with some random cherub, but Gabe (he absolutely hates it when I call him that) just moved his head from side to side. He said God just went fishing some weeks back and He never came back. The last one who saw Him was Maurice Carver, and according to the latter, God went to his little spot in heaven so that He could look into his new litter of Grand Champion Banjo pups, and after a few beers but not until they watched some young prospects get schooled, God rode his storm grey 1970 Charger and went on to the Nile to fish. Nobody had seen Him since. The archangel told me that He already did this sort of thing before and we now know that period in time as "The Dark Ages."

I did not think too much about it and when I got home, I wiped my Trek Fuel Ex and got some Gatorade to drink as my ride was sort of something short of epic. I biked for about three (3) hours and my body felt refreshed from all the sweat I managed to squeeze out of my half-sedentary body. In my quiet time, I realized that Gabe was a chatty biker. Usually, I get annoyed by the kind but since Gabe is a mighty archangel of The Lord, I took exception and found his company to be relatively enjoyable since his angelic glow shown on the path and I actually turned off my Nite Rider headlight since with that light coming out from all over his earthly body, I found them to be superfluous. God was missing. Well what do you know...

The next morning I heard a voice inside my head seconds before I opened my eyes. I was already awake but still to lazy to do anything but go back to sleep. The voice said: Jorge, wake up, I will test you.

"Test? What test?" I sheepishly retorted. Then I realized that it was His voice. God's.

God was sitting on the foot of my bed ridiculously tanned for June, He looked like He stayed at Bora for a week or two without sunscreen or a shirt on His back. His magnificent white beard still shone like the sun and the black of His eyes still looked like miniature black holes that suck everything. He still looked like freakin' Jerry Garcia from The Grateful Dead.

"Answer me my son, if the Philippines and the United States go to war against the Chinese, who should I will to win?" I almost instantly answered the first party, myself being a Flip and all. But knowing God like I do, I knew from the very start that this was a silly trick question. There are no straight answers with God. If there was, then anybody would just be able to know what will happen to their prayers. So I pondered a bit and slowly inhaled and exhaled, just like before answering the very first question on the very first test on my Bar examinations roughly four (4) years ago.

"The general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple before the battle is fought. The general who loses a battle makes but few calculations beforehand. Thus do many calculations lead to victory, and few calculations to defeat: how much more if no calculations were done at all? It is by attention to this point that I can foresee who is likely to win or lose." I quoted The Art of War in verbatim.

"Are you really a lawyer?" asked The Almighty.

"Are you really God?" I asked back, injured by the rhetorical but kept looking up waiting for lightning to smite my blasphemous existence.

"Your answer is not responsive to the question!" God was now shaking His head.

"But Lord, if You come to terms with it, technically, every answer is a response!" I was really screwing myself big time, but I simply just cannot stoop-down like a slave when someone, whoever-in-the-green-hell he may be, question my capability and qualification as a member of the Bar. He who mocks me shall be mocked much more scornfully, and he who exalts me shall share with all I have. It turned out that God was just bluffing. He rarely bluffs but when He does, you must be ready to call it. The daughters of Job failed to do so, and I have learned that lesson a very long time ago.

"..." God paused for dramatic effect. He was sort of like Pacino, in II.

God, in all His wisdom, took out what looked like a Marshall foot switch from his pocket. Its a handy black box with a single red button in the middle. He handed it over to me.

"Push the button and it will all be over." God declared.

"What will be over?" I asked, though I had some clue on what he was talking about.

"There would be no war. Nobody will be blamed and to the opinion of some, the world would become a better place...Push that red button and all the lives of all Chinamen all over the world shall instantly end."

I pondered into it a little bit, the Confucian that I am. But after a second and a half, I handed the black box back to The Almighty.

"I can't do it. No, I won't do it." I said while chuckling like a gambler who refused to go all in despite the magnificent hand.

"OK." God turned His back, flicked His pepper hair over his shoulders and walked right through my bedroom wall like it was made of thin air. Just like in the B-movies.

But His voiced echoed all over the room after He left. "Tell Gabe that I was fishing at the Spratlys last week. The some Chinese boats came around and caught them all in their huge nets...I'll try the coast of Nova Scotia this week...maybe I could catch lobster there without any fuss. Gabe is often too much of a pussy...On the second thought, scratch that last one"

And there went God, The Fisherman. Finally I could go back to sleep. Then I reached for the A/C remote, pushed the button, but it did not work.

The Inexorable Twilight Post

If the world would end if I do not make a choice between the three "Twilight" movies, I sort of liked the newest offering, eclipse, the most. Seeing the first one, twilight, was like watching a music video of Paramore or My Chemical Romance. Imagine watching emo music videos for to (2) hours straight--that's a perfect recipe for a headache. The second one, new moon, was filled with film cliches and yes, boring as waiting for a Digitel Customer Service Representative to answer when you call them to report your notoriously faulty DSL connection. The third one, eclipse--a half hour script streched into two hours so moviegoers could finish their tub sized popcorns and megatron sized Pepsis--is surprisingly not half bad. I liked the drama between the jock werewolf, the outsider vampire and the slutty female lead. It's like watching Gossip Girl but with superpowers!

I only read twilight and after putting it down, I thought the writing was decent, but way short of spectacular, unlike the hype surrounding the series. Then they botched it in the first movie. Like I said, the writing in twilight was OK but it didn't make me want to read the next three (3) books. After seeing eclipse, however, I have to see the next and hopefully the last (oh dear God please) twilight movie before I die. Or get bitten by a blood-sucking female vampire who, if there is a preference, look like Cristine Reyes or Angel Locsin.

Post partum

Ut desint vires, tamen est laudanda voluntas (Although the power is lacking, the will is commendable.)

-Ovid

The Philippine election "fever" is finished. The masses have spoken. BSA, or rather as the man prefers it, "P-Noy" is the new president. Everybody seems to be happy. Everyone seems jolly and gay. Well, not everyone, but most people.

While I think it superficial, P-Noy's walang wang-wang (what a mouthful) policy is great--for most of us, at least. It's not too great for his security team--in fact, it's their hellish nightmare. It's great for those who would plan on doing an unthinkable thing which I dare not type here, but it's not too great for those people who were accustomed to acting (and feeling) like VIPs. Its not too great for the likes of BF, who travels all the time in black sirened SUVs on the wrong side of the road like they are in a hurry to save the world from an imminent alien threat or a catastrophic meteor collission. Perhaps P-Noy, by commuting like a commoner, would better understand the traffic situation in the Metro and through his experience, someone in his car would provide a suggestion for a remedy.

I haven't seen the presidential inauguration on TV. I didn't have the time. I was doing more important stuff. I was on a marathon. The 24 season 8 marathon on DVD. I just heard bits and pieces of P-Noy's speech on Mike E's radio program the next day while I was on my way to work. Everybody heard when P-Noy said we are his boss(es). I wonder if the farmworkers of Hacienda Luisita are included in that statement since he made no mention about agrarian reform, nor any substantial plan to make the country a better place. The parts of the speech I heard are still the same motherhood statements and platitudes which if you analyze the same, it has the same amout of meaning as Hey Diddle Diddle. Like all who went before him, of course, the Filipino masses (including this representation) is willing to give P-Noy the benefit of the doubt. I would be the happiest if he proves that he is worthy of his parents' names. We'll see.

How much money do I need? Part 1: The House

Let's see. I need money to build a decent home for my family. We already have a lot in Avida where we could build on, but not enough cash to build a home. I think about 5 to 7 Mil would do the trick. There ain't gonna be no swimmin' pools and gold doorknobs and shit. I plan to keep it homely as possible. It should be a "happy" house after all. Not a party house, no ma'am. I plan to build a home where my kids can grow to be good kids and away from all the evils and the cheapness of today's hooligan like youth culture. Anyway...

The top floor is to have a master's bedroom with a huge walk-in closet to store my lovely wife's armada of handbags from snotty companies like LV, RL, DB, Coach, etc.. The master's bedroom should also have a spacious bathroom to fit a couple of bookshelves for my Honda Tuning magazines and other interesting toilet reading. The bathroom must be big enough for me and my kids to brush our teeth at the same time. The master's should have a big wall-mounted TV set-up. I have to watch my Al Pacino & Robert de Niro DVDs somewhere. The master's bed should be big enough to help "make some magic happen." The top floor should have adjacent boys and girls rooms. My boy Andres and her little sister Amber must sleep sometime. Outside these rooms is a den, where my kids can do their school work, play their video games, and do whatever it is kids do those days. A veranda with a rocking chair where I could read the Sunday paper and smoke in peace would also be nice.

At the ground floor, the usual American/Western house scheme would suffice--kitchen, living room, dining table, maid's quarters, etc.,etc.. My wife could take care of that easy. I just want a basement office/library--that has an access to the garage, just like Tony's Soprano's. I want that room to be dark, in contrast to the rest of the house, to build a little mystery, perhaps. A couple of replica Juan Luna's would perhaps do the trick. Match those with some public library style stand up bookshelves and there you have it. Then the garage: I want an automatic garage door garage which houses two cars inside and a sheltered driveway large enough to park four more cars if needed. The inside space is for my project/show car and my saturday track car. The sheltered diveway is for me and my wife's daily drivers.

This is just for the house. Summary: 1 master's bedroom, two kid's rooms, den, veranda, living room-kitchen-dining, maid's quarters, 3 t/bs, basement office, garage.

Count as of the first money post: 5 to 7 Mil (PhP).

"I believe in philosophy." Hypatia of Alexandria said before the "Christian" religious leaders asked her on her religious beliefs if she had any.

Moses bought me a showerhead

One night last week, I was drinking, shooting some bull, and talking cars with my compareng Alex at this local beer joint when I bumped into a familiar-looking middle-aged man who knew my name. He had this salt-and-pepper-George-Clooney-type of hair and wore a tie-dyed shirt and the frayed remains of an extremely old pair of Levi's. Despite of his straight from the sixties look, however, the man looked and smelled clean. In fact, he smelled like Paco Rabanne.

"Jorge" the man called out when he saw me for the first time after his first trip to the john. He did not call me "attorney" or "sir" which I have become conceitedly accustomed to, so I assumed that this guy knew me before I passed the bar exams.

I waved. The man approached our table and said, "You don't recognize me do you?"

"Of course I do." I lied. My wife told me it has become my hobby--lying. It's way too comfortable. I did it mainly to escape awkward moments like this, as I don't like being aggravated too much.

"God has told me all about you. It's like you've become his new pet prophet of sorts." said the strange man.

Upon the mention of God, I realized that this dude was a biblical character. I've already met Michael the archangel, and something told me that this feller is not an angel on Jacob's ladder. Or one who fell from it. But I stil can't place the dude.

"I am Moses." the man declared.

Alex, who was minding his cellphone that moment raised his head and looked at Moses and was only able to sarcastically utter "Wow..."

I already believed the guy when he said he was Moses but Alex didn't. He took it as a big joke from a drunk, perhaps drug-crazed hippie.

"You? Moses?" asked Alex.

Moses did not answer.

"'Lex, he's Moses. The Moses Moses." I tried to explain.

"Wow." I could see in his face that his sarcasm was already seemingly mixed with a bit of confusion.

"Bullshit." said Alex. I wouldn't believe it too if I haven't met God Almighty Himself during law school.

"Jorge, your friend does not believe." said Moses. "Perhaps I could convince him, if you couldn't." Moses continued.

"What the hell, er, I mean heck...go ahead, go crazy." This is going to be a long night, I thought. I pulled out a chair and asked Macy, our waitress, to give Moses a beer.

"If you're Moses, you can turn your staff into a snake. Tangina, you dont even have a staff..." Alex challenged the biblical man.

"Staff? That's so old school. So B.C.! (Before Christ) I ditched that thing a long time ago. But don't worry, I still have this." Moses took out from his pocket what looked to me as a black chrome vibrator-the discreet looking kind which did not actually looked like a fuckin' penis. WTF does Moses have a vibrator? Anyways, he turned it on and placed it at the table. A few moments after, and for a split-second, it seemed that the mist of the gods of Olympus blinded our eyes and the thing turned into a wiggly black mamba--one of the world's most venomous snakes.

"Moses, by Jove, put that thing away!" I almost yelled. The cashier at the bar mockingly looked at me as if I was a sissy girl.

"Fuck!" Alex was surprised for a moment but after a minute or two after Moses-the deliverer changed the snake back into a vibrator, Alex regained his skeptical composure. "That's one fine trick! Was that David Blane or Criss Angel?"

"You remind me of my brother Ramses, Alex." said Moses. "Let me try another. Macy, can I get a beer mug?" Alex and I were drinking straight from the bottle.

Moses filled the mug with ice water and dropped the vibrator thingy inside. It seemed silly. Then Moses stirred it with his middle finger, the vibrator twirling inside the water-filled mug. The water turned red, and after a few seconds, the liquid was no longer water. It turned to blood.

"God," I gasped. "Do you really have to do that, dude?" I turned to Moses. "I was about to order some crispy dinuguan..." The latter BTW, tastes exquisite.

"You must be a magician. Not a very good one, but still, you're entertaining...If we just have a deck if cards here, I'll show you my own tricks, cool tricks, not that water color bullshit you just pulled..." retorted my friend Alex. Moses sighed in frustration.

"Ok, here's another one to prove I am who I say I am..." Moses started again.

"No locusts, old man, we're at a restaurant." I interrupted. Moses did not even flinch.

"Take out your cellphone." Moses ordered Alex.

Alex yielded and got his cellphone out from his front jeans pocket. He held it up and Moses blew on it, like one would blow a candle on a birthday cake. The Sony-Ericsson transformed into a huge grasshopper the size of a NYC sewer rat.

In his surprise, Alex lost hold of the giant grasshopper, it dropped to the ground and a split-second before it actually hit the floor, it turned back into a cellphone. Well, it used to be a mobile phone. It shattered on impact, as if the same was frozen with nitro.

"What the fuck?!?" Alex, who is a deep-rooted Bulakenyo, cursed in American. I looked at him as if to say "See dude, I told you he's Moses." I thought he'd get what I did not have to say but then he started picking up pieces of his used-to-be cellphone from the floor and when he was done, he sort of slammed the parts into the table and said "You're paying for this, geezer, or else..." as if he could actually threaten a biblical prophet.

"So let it be written, so let it be done." said Moses. He picked up the vibrator-thingy and jabbed it at Alex's head, just a little above his right ear. Alex litteraly froze. Stranger things may have happened to others, but this is the strangest and most wicked shit I have ever seen. Alex's right earlobe grew a shower head, and from it coursed jets of lukewarm water. As I was sitting right beside the non-believer, I received a good dose of spray.

"Fuck you, Moses! Fuck you." I said. "You really have to do that sort of shit, don't you?" I continued as I wipe myself with the hankerchief my lovely wife placed at my left rear pocket that morning.

Thereafter, Moses broke the showerhead and handed it to me. Alex regained consciousness but was a tad catatonic.

"Now I hope you believe, you dumb fuck!" said the deliverer to the non-believer.

Alex then grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it at Moses' head. Moses collapsed on the floor.

"Now we can finally drink in peace, pare." Alex turned to me.

"Peace. Yes...To peace" I offered a toast, as Moses, adopted child of the Great Pharoah's sister, the deliverer of the Jews from captivity in Egypt, the bearer of God's Ten (10) commandments, and drop dead look-a-like of a young Charlton Heston, lied on the floor, head cracked open and bleeding.

"Fuck Moses." Alex said. "We ain't Jews anyway."

"Fuck Moses." I followed suit and drank my pilsen.

To those who believe, no proof is necessary, and to those who don't, no explanation is ever enough.

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."

*******************************************************************************

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.

***********************************************************************************

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.

**********************************************************************************

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.