The Godfather Returns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued. . .

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

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

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

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

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

Pimpin' with San Mig and the Almighty

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

"We'll I'd be damned!"

My Cousin Bot's Rules for Women

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Crying is blackmail.

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

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

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

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

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

1. Check your oil! Please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

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

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

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

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

Yes, I do renounce him

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

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