The Anti-Hero

Do you ever root for the villain to win? Are you at times sick of the fact that the hero always win? That's the reason why I don't like Steven Seagal and Van Damme movies. I won't pretend I haven't seen any but when I fortuitously come across one while surfing channels, sometimes I stick on it just to find out if Stiffy-Steven or Jean-Claude gets whacked in the end. And don't get me started on their outfits.

Seriously, sometimes, the antagonist in the plot is more interesting than the protagonist. Take Dr. Doom for example. In my book, he's way cooler than the Fantastic Four. He's super-strong, an evil genius, and he wears this really menacingly sick iron mask with a little dark green riding hood. In contrast, Reed Richards--apart from having a incredibly stupid sounding name--stretches. Stretch and you're a hero. That's the stupid Reed Richards character is all about. My dick stretches about three to four times its original size but I don't call it a hero. Well at least I won't go draw a comic book about it.

In the movie "Untouchables," there starred my all time favorite actor Bobby De Niro opposite Kevin Costner. Bobby was Al Capone, and the Californian Dork played Elliott Ness. I mean, come on, in the real world, can The Bodyguard shine Bobby De Niro's shoes? I didn't think so. When I first saw the movie, I wished so hard that Costner's character should die I pissed my pants a little bit. By the way, the baseball bat scene in which Capone bludgeons a mobster is loosely based on an actual 1929 incident when Capone bludgeoned three (3) mobsters to death; Albert Anselmi, Jo "Hop Toad" Giuinta and John Scalise.

Here in our country, I can't help but to root for the anti-hero, because the supposed protagonists are really crooks. The current administration is the number one crook, who holds out itself as the hero. After so many fuckin' photo-ops, even they believe that they are the goddam good guys. One law school professor, once said, "Corruption is institutionalized in the framework of our government." I believe that the government is actually against national growth. If we take a look at most successful economies, we'll discover that they began from humble entrepeneurial endeavors of people who believed in their own ablilities and had the courage to pursue their dreams. I'm talking about the pioneers, businessmen of any kind, they be inventors or bootleggers. In the old economy, the way to succeed was to "build a better mousetrap." What better way to build a better mousetrap if you don't copy the original? My father used to tell me that when he was very young, all things made in Japan were crap. Mostly, he adds, they were cheap imitations of U.S. and European made products, and they were consistently poor in quality. Of course, they were considerably cheaper so folks bought them, warts and all. How things have changed! When I was growing up, all the best products are made in Japan. The best bicycles, the best toys, the best video-games, the best everything. The Japanese built a better mousetrap. These days, China (that includes Taiwan) is the new Japan. Chinese products flood the domestic markets. As a consumer, I can clearly see the improvements in the quality of their products in less than a ten (10) year span. Some Chinese products are now competitive in quality even against the best in the market. Here's my point: The Chinese, and the Japanese before them didn't fuck the entrepeneurs. Their governments weren't busting the balls of the bootleggers for infringing copyrights and patents owned by some foreign schmucks. Their governments actually encouraged and induced local enterprise advancement, by fostering an environment conducive to business growth and expansion. Whereas in this country, the government does all it can to make a quick buck.

My uncle (Don Marcelino), together with my father (Don Bonifacio) and other friends of the family, own and operate some small business. One of these meager businesses is a Liquefied Petroleum Gas (LPG) Refilling Plant. All these businesses are, in the eyes of the law, legal. The bosses faithfully comply with all laws, rules and regulations pertinent and relevant to their businesses. All documents, permits, taxes, and what-else-the-fuck-have-you are secured and with reasonable promptitude. However, in compliance with these legal requirements, the people in government--apart from the legally mandated fees and charges--charge and collect ridiculous sums of money from the businesses to go directly into their pockets. Some describe it as the "cost of doing business," or padulas money, even if it is totally unnecessary. The main thing is this: even when you go legal, you get fucked on the ass by this government. From the City Hall to the Office of the President, all them snakes and alligators want to bleed everyone dry.

It is bad enough that local businessmen tolerate this sub rosa culture, but an even greater and previously unimaginable evil have spawned in this GMA adminstration: The Presidential Task Force. Along with the super-irresponsible television media that we have, the elite of the elite, top-of-the-foodchain crooks in government have rallied under the presidential banner to create chaos and to extract even more cash from businessmen. Under pain of prosecution and negative media exposure, these motherfuckers extort money from businesses like those belonging to my family. Our LPG refilling plant has been raided by task force after task force and featured on TV crime shows on both big channels. These task force fuckers think they are Elliot Ness and the untouchables. They climb the gates, force open the locks, shout various uneducated profanities, and brandish their cheap U.S. surplus M-16 Armalites and WWII M-14s at my father's poor employees who are there to make an honest living refilling cooking gas. One of them, my father's cook, was even sent to prison for a couple of nights after a task-force raid. Did he make the monggo stew too fuckin' salty? Everytime they do this, they only want one thing: money. The cops want money, the newsmen want money, the government lawyers want money, the judge wants money, the mayor wants money...what every single authority-type motherfucker wants is money. It is not enough anymore to simply keep their beaks wet. These birds have turned into vultures and they want flesh and blood. They are making a killing. How can legitimate business survive in an environment like this?

Perhaps it is time for us to make the jump from hero to anti-hero.

It just takes one dum sumbitch

I have a Swede friend, Rico--who was once a hardcore dogman but now turned Buddhist--who said, "Never estimate the predictability of stupidity." I thought it was one of the stupidest one-liners I've ever heard at the time, but recently I have serendipitously discovered its deep wisdom.

A couple of weeks ago, I was tricked by my wife to take along my father-in-law with me when I renew the car registration certificate at the LTO. My wife is a very smart little lady. She said it was our chance to bond. I was thinking, "Bond? Who the hell wants to bond with his father in law? Immediately, I thought of two kinds of guys: 1.The Suck-up, and 2. The Plastic-man. I am neither. On an afterthought, I realized that even these two don't really want to bond with them in-laws. The first wants something in return, usually capable of being expressed in terms of money, and the second principally operates on a pretext based on a lie. Clearly, no married male in their right minds would want to "bond" with their father-in-law.

My wife's old man said to me, "Jorge, kailangan maglagay tayo para mabilis."

I said "Uhm, okay." But then when he was not looking, I was shaking my head and smirking. I'm not implying that I am 100% corruption-free. Hell, it's sad to admit but its part of Flip culture. Deeply ingrained in our society is the tendency to cut the red-tape by slipping in some extra cash sub rosa. Nevertheless, the thought of my own father popped-up in my head. My father is the kind of classic old-school guy who would not think of making a bribe unless there is absolutely no other way around it only whenever he really needs something important done real quick without too much hassle. Simply renewing a car's registration papers is definitely not one of those things. If he founds out that I did that, he'd probably shake his head just like I did, and add that deplorable act to his list of my life's disappointments.

Once, when I was fifteen (15), I faked my age to get a student driver's license. One was required to be sixteen (16) to get one of those. One of my uncle's truck drivers was my accomplice for that particular bad deed. He was blind in one eye and had a professional driver's license. Just imagine what would happen if he went through the regular procedure in getting driver's licenses. The medical examiner would go, "cover your right eye and read to me the letters you see on that poster..." Later on, my father found out about it and although I cannot recall at this time the precise contents of his sermon, I am definitely sure that there was a long and onerous one. Perhaps it just came to the right ear and out the left.

So me and the old man went in there, walked through a line longer than one on the first day of Marian Rivera's new movie. And no, I did not watch it, I just saw the line at the local SM mall near where I live. He started unusually politely talking to this bespectacled fat lady, who looked like a villain who popped-out of an anti-corruption poster. She had these old-fashioned rimmed glasses on, thick stockings failing to disguise the tree-trunks she had for legs, and from the looks of it, a big chubby pencil stuck-up her ass. The old man just gave all my car papers to this lady and told me to chuck the cash discreetly to her desk. The price was a few hundred Pesos more than that legally required. Somewhat feeling like a crook, I shoved the wad of cash to her desk and she told us to wait outside and wait for her call.

Since me and my wife just got recently married, she had to go through the business of changing her last name to mine's. The Civic was in still in her maiden name because at the time we bought it, we were not yet married. So I told the fat-assed LTO lady the story and asked asked her "Miss, how can we change the name on the registration papers?" She had all sorts of answers but none of them were making sense to me. I rephrased my question and asked, "Do you have a procedure on how my wife can change the name reflected on the registration papers?" Finally, and seemingly out of thin air, she gave me this answer "you have to execute a deed of sale..." As a rather annoying habit of mine, probably inherited from my father, and reinforced by some law school professors I had, I shake my head from left to right repititiously on instinct whenever I hear a wrong answer. My wife is really pissed off whenever I do that thing to her.That moment, I had no idea I was doing it. The lady, on a tone, said "Don't shake your head Mister, it's as though like you're looking down on me!"

That got on my nerve, to say the least. I broke all politeness protocol and said "Look, Miss, what you are telling me is totally wrong, one person cannot sell a thing to him or herself. In the eyes of the law, that is not a valid sale. As a graduate of law (with stress on "graduate" and "law" so she can hear perfectly), I will not and can not do that in good conscience." Hearing that, I could see her expression from something really snooty and sinister common to most government employees who think they are doing ordinary citizens tremendous favors by doing their jobs, to something more pleasant and a little bit scared and apologetic at the same time.

As I was blurting all that shit that out, I felt my soul flew outside of my body and I was looking at myslef arguing with some nincompoop. I quickly came back inside my body and smoothly came up with a fake apology. She said that that's the way they do it whenever they encounter situations identical to my wife's and then she also conjured a fake apology of her own. With that, I thought, "fuck it, let's just let the papers be as they are, I have no patience for this." So I went outside, lit a smoke and started to wait for our 2008 sticker to issue.The old man with me was left inside, probably apologizing profusely to the fat lady for my unruly behavior.

True enough, the padulas we gave cut down the time we were engaged to wait. After a little over thirty (30) minutes, My wife's maiden name was being called, and the rest of the honest sumbitches who had been waiting for half a day since morning still had their asses stuck outside the LTO office praying to God to make the assholes inside call their names so they can get the fuck out of that shitty place.

The violent side of my brain

I have hurt some guys in the past. I once whacked someone's head open and turned another guy's face into a funny looking abstract of sorts. I've done a few stuff that I should not have done but nothing that I regret. If those things happen all over again, probably, I'd do the same. Maybe I'll do better. Who knows these things? My advice to you, "take a cue from Tony Soprano, ladies and gentlemen".

It was Jesus Christ who whipped and thrashed the market stalls outside the temple. The merchants were selling all sorts of vile stuff outside the temple, at the temple steps, I don't know, maybe even inside there's a fellow going "hey, dude, want to buy a sundial... or a camel blind?" If I were Jesus, I'd do the same. I'm the son of God and you sell stuff outside my house without my permission? I should get a cut. A 40% shy on everything. The meat of the matter is, "it is reasonable to get a little bit violent when there is a need for a showing of strength. When you've got to punch someone in the nose, you've got to punch someone in the nose. Let the other fellow bleed if he deserves it". Later on in his short life here on earth, Jesus also said, "I have come not to bring peace but a sword."

Today's modern "civil" society is overflowing with hypocrisy. If you ever get mad and manifest your anger physically, you'll be instantly labeled as a sociopath. What the fuck? A sociopath? I say Fuck it! Ever since the beginning of time, man always had conflict with man. Force is a language that everyone used to understand. Hence the maxim, "Survival of the fittest--The strong shall live and the weak shall perish."

I'm not saying that it is perfectly alright to bash someone else's head with a shovel to set his thinking straight, but what I am trying to convey is that the world is fastly becoming a planet of apathethic spineless wimps, especially the Philippines. The reason why the government is so corrupt is because we as a people are sissies. I understand that we've been culturaly trained and "miseducated" (that's Renato Constantino for you) to become sissies by the colonials back in the day but hell that was ages ago, If we really had the balls, we should've bounced back by now. Look at goddam Cambodia, the country is practically destroyed by the regime of the bloody Khmer Rogue just in the 70's but they're doing better than us now. I really hate to compare but its the only way that I can make my case here. Alas! We have not.

Unless we gather our cajones and get our dicks straight and hard, all this abusive and horrible shit that's happenning to us will continue and in the end, will turn us all into fucking mindless robots. We've got to rise up, raise our clenched fists, brandish that chain, cock that automatic, and overturn all the fucking market-stalls that have been pestering our temples forever.

The Dichotomy of Life

During the Mexican-American war, two Mexican soldiers were pinned heavily under fire in a small foxhole close to the frontier. One of them, Pedro, was extremely worried about death. Pedro asked Jose (the other guy), "Amigo, what happens when I die?"

Jose answered, "Well, Two things may happen amigo...You may either go to the after-life or get reincarnated."

Jose: "If you go to the after-life, then that's good, you'll see all your loved ones who passed away...You'll see your mama there, Pedro."

Pedro: "But what if I get reincarnated?"

Jose: "Well then...two things may happen amigo. You could either be reincarnated as a man, or as a plant. If you get reincarnated as a man, then that's good, amigo, you could live a new life. Maybe, in your new life, there is no war."

Pedro: "But what if I get reincarnated as a plant?"

Jose: "Well then...two things may happen amigo. You could either be a corn-stalk, or you can become a tree. If you become a corn-stalk, then that's good amigo, you can feed the future of our great country Mexico."

Pedro: "But what if I become a tree?"

Jose: "Well then..."

Pedro: "I know, two things may happen...what is it?"

Jose: "You're right, two things may happen amigo. If you become a tree, you may either be used as lumber, or you may be used as paper. If you are used as lumber, then that's good amigo, you'll serve as the strong material for the houses in our beloved country, Mexico."

Pedro: "You sure are smart, Jose. But what if I become paper?"

Jose: "Well, still, two things may happen amigo..."

Pedro: " Two things may still happen? I'm paper and still two things may happen? Ai, caramba!"

Jose: "That is the dichotomy of life, Pedro. Yes, two things may happen. If you become paper, you may either be used as writing paper, or toilet paper. If you become writng paper, that's good amigo, you will serve as the learning material for the children of Mexico, so that they become good leaders, and wars like this could be avoided. Maybe, if you become writing paper, you'll be the piece of paper where the peace treaty is written..."

Pedro: "But what if I become toilet paper? Dios mio, Jose. My death would be in vain if I become toilet paper."

Jose: "If you become toilet paper, two things may happen, amigo. You may either be used by a man, or a woman. If you are used by a man, that's good. At the very least, you have helped to sanitize a Mexican."

Pedro: "But what if I get used by a woman?"

Jose: "You know it..."

Pedro: "Two things may happen?"

Jose: "Yes. You may either be used at the top, or you may be used at the bottom. If you get used at the top, the face, in the cheeks, in the lips, then that's good amigo."

Pedro: "But what if I get used in the bottom?"

Jose: "Well, amigo, two things may happen. You may either be used in the back or in the front. If you get used in the back, then that's good amigo. As a tissue paper, you have served your purpose."

Pedro: "...and if I get used in the front?"

Jose: "Santa Maria, Pedro, if you get used in the front by a woman, then amigo, your death will not be in vain!!!"

BANG! (Pedro gets shot)

Psychobabble

The modern world is a shrink's patient. Every little thing gets blamed on sad, dark and dreary childhood experiences. If you killed someone, maybe your uncle abused you as a child. If you turned-out an alcoholic, maybe your mother always yelled at you when you were four or five. If you're thirty-six years old and you still wet your bed when you have a nightmare, maybe your father belted you on the ass when you were growing-up. If you fart so much in public, maybe your little playmate back in '82 always did and you thought that was cool when you were ten. You know, all that motherfucking bullshit about psycho-analysis and therapy? I don't want to sound so callous and uncaring about each and everyone's personal mental tragedies, but what the fuck? Do you really need someone whom you have told your innermost emotional debaucheries to ask you "...and how does that makes you feel?" Psycho-analysis is one of the biggest rackets in the first-world. It's an industry that does not need its own cheesy infomercial to thrive. Second to organized religion, it's the most lucrative business. Prozac, Lithium, the works. They're the true gangsters. Cock-sucking dope-dealers with M.D.'s.

See, it's pretty simple to me. Some people are just fucked-up. You know, wackos. Those who end up in the street with filthy rags and no underpants. They are the one who need psycho-therapy, not the middle-aged businessman who divides his time between playing golf and counting his money. I'm guessing these yuppie brats just need some attention. They were the goddam sissies and nerds in school. Those fucking idiots suddenly don't know what to do when they realize they're too old to be collecting stamps or watching star trek. They got their heads so far up their ass the whole time they don't really know what life is.

"Oh, I fucking hate my boss, he's so mean, he hates me, blah-blah-blah...yada-yada-yada..." Who the fuck cares? I mean, tell that shit to your wife, your father, your mother. You can tell sad stories to your household cat and still nothing will happen. The only ones who can help us are ourselves. It is us who makes our destinies. There is no pre-ordained bullshit in this life, because life is not fair. Nobody said it was, nor will it ever will be. Word to the wise, suck it up, take the blows, and grab life by the balls.

To me, going to a psychologist is like going to confession. You tell the other guy--a stranger--secrets and he's supposed to help you, give you advice, make your ass pray a hunderd hail maries, and what-else-the-fuck-have-you. After that, here comes that donation box, the doctor's fee, the bill for releasing your guilt which makes you less fearful of eternal damnation in hell.

If I ever have to see a shrink in the future, I think I'll make the most of it though...maybe I can come up with a million bullshit stories just to bust his balls.