Still More Airplane Woes

Friday, December 29, 2006

What I'm about to talk about happens on every flight save for this one flight that I've been in. So if you've had the chance to travel on an airplane, chances are you've seen this. And you're probably one of the idiots I'll be talking about.

The airplane you're riding lands on the runway. It slows down, eases out of the taxiway towards the tarmac/tube. If your flight's going to Manila coming from Hong Kong, expect some clapping. If it's from the Middle East, expect a lot of clapping. No big deal there.

And then what? Now what happens next annoys me. And it happens on every flight. EVERY DAMN FLIGHT. The stewardess will announce to "please remain in your seat until the plane has coasted to a full stop and the 'fasten your steatbelt' lamp has been switched off."

Her instruction is clear right? We all sit prim and proper, seatbelts latched on and wait for the 200 ton contraption made up of 500,000 vibrating pieces to coast to a complete stop. Easy? WRONG.

The people start standing up right after the announcement, acting completely opposite of what's asked of them. They're like f'ing meerkats peering out of their underground shelters after the storm. Cellphones get switched on, luggage bins start popping open, - if you look had enough, I'm sure you'll see people doing cartwheels just to add to the commotion.

And for what? They just get their bags and stand there. On the aisles. You get to thinking you're riding the rush hour bus along EDSA. It's annoying. It's ridiculous. And it probably poses some danger to the rest of the passengers on board.

If you're one of these people, here are some fun facts:

- No matter what the little boy inside your head says, the captain will not hurry up in parking the metal bird you're riding just because you people are already standing up.

- Even if you stand up in the aisles and jump up and down like a raving monkey, it is virtually impossible for you to get off the plane while it is moving and the doors remain pressurized.

- The plane will not leave with you still onboard. Trust me, they want you out of their plane as badly as you do, if not more.

- You were able to sit in that plane for 2 hours or more (possibly even 14 if coming from the United States), and contrary to popular belief, it will not kill you to sit your ass for 15 more minutes.

- There are no free drinks for the first 20 passengers to leave the plane And if ever there was such a thing, you still wont be able to get it because the first 20 will be from the first class cabin, and never from your economy class.

- There are no motherf*ing snakes on the motherf*ing plane so you need not get off so quickly. And no, Samuel L. Jackson ain't onboard either.

With those things in mind, I hope the next time you're flying, you'll take care not to bring the total IQ onboard down. Contrary to popular belief, there is no IQ restriction of 20 for passengers.

In fact, it is implicitly encouraged to bring as much as you can.

Because the last thing anybody would want, is to be trapped in a tin can flying 30,000 feet in the air with a set of assmonkeys who can't even follow a simple "remain seated" instruction.

And if you're wondering about the the title, it's because of this:

The Pros and Cons of Blogging

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

I was browsing PEx earlier when I came across a topic like this. So here's my take on the issue:

Advantage is, everybody can go get their works and thoughts published now. Twenty years ago, there were only a handful of media where one can express thought and be heard properly - majority of them, government controlled. Either you'd have to be exceptionally famous, or exceptionally good to be heard. Now, anybody with enough braincells to move a mouse and an active internet connection can - theoretically - convey thought to thousands if not millions.

The disadvantage comes from the same idea that makes blogging advantageous. Even though technology has managed to make our voices and thoughts easier to hear through the internet, it has failed in raising the bar of intelligence for everybody using it. Giving everybody the power of the press without any form of censorship is like handing loaded revolvers to a bunch of untrained monkeys. While not everybody will ever figure out how to use it properly, those who can will still have problems in responsible usage - and somehow, the process of de-licing one another becomes a lot trickier for those lucky few.

This obvious introduction of power to reckless hands is no more evident in Time magazine's latest issue. Time Magazine's person of the year is YOU. That's right. You.

Let's place attention whores beside Hitler and The Pope. It's the greatest idea since people thought of making balloons filled with volatile, flammable gas as mainstream transportation. Way to contribute to the pollution of the internet, Time.

Imagine how much intellectual orgasm the so called political bloggers (scientific name: whining bedwetters) are having after reading about that. Now they're feeling all the more empowered behind their tool of trade (i.e. a computer connected to the internet, other friends with computers, and and a bag of Doritos for scent). With their overinflated egos and shameful ability to hide behind the shroud of anonimity that is the internet, they can indignantly spread/pollute the web with their senseless ranting, while at the same time achieving nerdgasm (orgasm for nerds) in thinking that they're actually changing what's happening around them.

10 years ago this sort of ranting would be what a barber would be doing while cutting your hair. I don't see him being crowned Time's Person of The Year. He doesn't even get the Barber of The Year Award in our town. And he's the only town barber. Because ranting is just that. Ranting. Advantage of this sort of ranting is that air eventually dissipates the sound waves of retardedness the man creates. Granted, it stays in your head, but a dose of forgetting can easily fix it. Now, thanks to the power of blogging, it stays circulating forever, appearing in your google and junkmail and messageboards like festers in a leper colony.

Freedom of speech and democracy are good things that should be spread around - at least on paper. However, those things are devices that need at least basic logic to use properly. But in real life, not everybody can afford the luxury of thinking. Now we have idiots publishing bulldung and retards voting for our leaders. It's the beginning of a very slow, agonizing end.

Back in the victorian era, they thought that a thousand chimps banging on typewriters all day long would eventually produce shaekspearean works. Now thanks to the glory of the internet, we all know this is untrue.

*bang bang bang*

I think I'm done.

*hits publish button*


In other news, the final chapter of Wanted: Full-Support Priestess is out, making it the 57th chapter of the series. That means we only have the three chapter-epilogues to go before the whole story ends at 60 chapters. Thank you all for reading that helluva long story (sa mga nagbabasa).

Putting The Emo In Remote.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

There are few things in our house that get lost more often than the remote controls of the televisions. And even though we live in a flat no bigger than 50 meters, looking for the remote control is always like digging for oil - a successful find is based on luck, politicking, basic geodesy and getting down and dirty while digging through rubbish for a potential hit.

And it's not like anybody intentionally hides the remote control. It's like the puzzling phenomenon of the tangling of cords, hairstrands, garden hoses, rope or just about anything long enough to get tangled. Nobody really intends to entangle those things and yet, it's almost like mysterious elves come into your house when you're not looking and play Dr. Quack Quack with those things, so you have something to fuss over later. Anyway, losing a remote control is basically like that. It just disappears (even though nobody claims to have last used it - and nobody probably ever will.)

It's amazing how far a simple remote control can get. Seriously. Here's a list of places where we've found the remote controls of the televisions at home over the years:

- Inside the freezer
- Inside the bathroom
- Waste basket
- Inside the car - after a very long road trip
- Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

For the last case, the remote's actually for the TV inside our house in the same country. But yeah, it did get lost (and I'm not sure whether we ever found it, or if we had to buy a new one). So when the Americans tell you they cant find Bin Laden in the desert, take their word for it. Just because the place is filled with nothing but sand doesnt mean it's any easier to find stuff there. In any case, Bin Laden is probably hiding with the remote control - so the chances of ever finding either of them is bleak.

Then there's the game of "last touch". When I say "last touch" this does not necessarily mean the last person who actually used it. Oh no, that'd be too easy. What we have here is a basic democracy of mooting systematically until somebody gets pissed and begins blatantly accusing one of the house members who the accuser things is the last person who last "touched" it. It's like playing Cluedo - except the crime is stealing and deliberately "hiding" the remote control. And crime per se is not a requirement. Motive is often enough.

As if getting accused that you've hidden the remote is bad enough, when evidence gets found that potentially incrimates you (i.e. the remote was found somewhere near your personal belongings, like 10 meters away from your bag) - you're already as guilty as Hitler.

And the punishment? Nothing really. Think of it as getting caught shoplifting where your picture gets plastered on every cashier and entrance of a supermarket and any missing goods will always be blamed on the "usual gang of suspect" (suspect, because it'll be clear that by rep you're always working alone). In the same light, all missing remote controls will be attributed to you for the next, let's say, twenty years to life.

I may or may not have experienced this once or thrice in my lifetime.

Clearly, there's a problem with the system.

As a solution to the problem , I suggested that we place the remote on top of the TV after we're done using it. And the reply I got?

"It's a remote control. Having to get near the TV to use it defeats its purpose."

One cannot simply beat that arguement.

A Chirstmas Gift

Monday, December 25, 2006

Here at Public Static, I make it a point to always put in something original, as to avoid doing my part in polluting the net with copypaste horse**** (censored, pasko kasi ngayon). However, I checked just now and found out that this article I'm about to put here is no longer existing on the net, and has not been existing for almost 5 years now. Think of this as my little Christmas gift to you guys.

This article was written as the 7th Editorial article of, former website of the legendary Bob Ong who's written ABNKKBSNPLKo, Bakit Baligtad Magbasa Ang Mga Pilipino, Ang Paboritong Aklat Ni Hudas, Stainless Longanissa, and the gubat parody book whose title I can't remember.

I know posting this is liable to copyright violations so, if you feel so, just tell me to take it down and I will. I just thought it's nice to see Bob Ong's writings that he made before he became the mainstream star that we all know him now as (well, we still dont know who he is but what the heck). Anyway here's the article.
That's it. Merry Christmas Guys.

edit: Article as been pulled by request of the author.

Wahehehe tapos na ang pasko mga kids, wag nang mangaroling. I won't be reposting any of his works anymore.

- Jet Kinoko

God Knows - Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu

Saturday, December 23, 2006

First try to play God Knows in piano. (I'm only guessing the chords so gomen, if it sounds nothing like the actual song) I'll try to improve on this soon.

I screwed up in so many places, I even accidentally repeated the lead part one extra time. Anyway I'll make a better oee once I figure out what the rest of the chords are.

Not getting enough Christmas? Have a mug.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Bet you there's no object more unexpectedly yuletide that the common coffee mug. I have a theory that 80% of all coffee mugs are bought during christmas season, and in that figure, 90% of them end up as gifts, 5% end up as shards of glass after they got accidentally dropped during giftwrapping, and another 5% get carried over to the next christmas still to be given as gifts.

As a little experiment, consider all coffee mugs you have in the house/office. Enumerate all the mugs you have and ask yourself where they all came from. For my case, a staggering 100% of them came in as gifts, all of them as Christmas gifts.

What is it with people and giving coffee mugs anyway? Why coffee mugs? Why not other drinking/eating implements like utensils and glasses? Well, steak knives, I can understand. People just don't want to be digging their own graves. But I sure would like to see somebody giving a spoon instead - just to be different.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the practice of giving mugs. Hell, I'd be worried if the world suddenly turned around and frowned at the giving of mugs for gifts (not that they really dont, they do, but in secret) - I still have a couple of dozen coffee mugs at home waiting for new "lucky" owners. That's called long-term investment right there.

Maybe there's a cheesy line that came with the giving of the first ever coffee mug gift that got lost in translation/time. Like maybe the girl giving her sweetheart a mug said "I want you to remember me everytime you drink coffee - hot, smooth, and keeps you up all night." Or something like that.

I'd like to think of that everytime I recieve a mug. It always warrants me a smile.

Only there's one problem.

I don't drink coffee.

A Different Kind of Virus

Thursday, December 21, 2006

I wasnt really planning to post anything today but then again, sometimes stupidity smacks you in the face with such vigor and velocity, you just have to make note of it. I was browsing pinoyexchange earlier when some guy chose to highlight AMA QC's aptitude in teaching its students computer science by mentioning Onel De Guzman.

Onel De Guzman.

In case you've been living under a rock, he's the guy who became famous for creating an ILOVEYOU virus that reportedly infected 45 million computers worldwide. Well, not really. He got famous for getting caught.

In the rather unremarkable 15 year history of virus writing, Onel De Guzman is still the only dumb motherfucker to ever get caught for writing a virus. There are 53,000 viruses in existence, hundreds more come out every month, and his proved to be the only traceable wild-status virus. That's like being singled out in a Mr. Stupid of The Universe Pageant in a landslide victory.

How the hell did that happen? Here's how:

rem barok -loveletter(vbe)
rem by: spyder / / @GRAMMERSoft Group / Manila,Philippines

This is part of the ILOVEYOU code. In case you dont know what that is, it's his icq profile name, it's the name of his e-barkada and the place and country he's from. In terms of crime stupidity, that's roughly equivalent to robbing 49 million houses and leaving your calling card in each and every doorstep.

A quick google search also yielded his Thesis Proposal Document that got him flunked out of university too.

I'm not going to nitpick how retarded his topic is. That's a given already, since he got kicked out for just proposing that but will you look at that level of technical writing? I've seen better from 14yo pakistanis in the zone-h forums (and theyre supposed to be out-of-school youth monkeys with computers).

I gotta love his review of related literature. I was half-expecting something like this:

Similarities: The study was also written in English.
Differences: We use different words.

I got nothing against AMA QC. In defence to AMA QC, this De Guzman does not reflect the attitude and aptitude of all AMA students. It's just sad that some people still think of him in high and mighty colours.

Rumor has it that he's working for Microsoft now. Some say he's part of some other bigshot company. I'd like to think Human Resources for those companies aren't dumb enough to hire a flunk out douche with poor documentation skills and a ridiculously popular bad rep.

Sure, he's got his own Wikipedia entry, but so does Hard Gay.

At least Hard Gay knows how to keep his act entertaining.

Digital Love

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

(This article was first written and published three years ago. Again, this article is partially commissioned. If you want to copy this in your site, talk to me first. Thanks)

Ben's palms have been sweating for the past thirty minutes despite the cool air blowing out of the air conditioning of the bookstore. He is wearing a red shirt, just as what was agreed upon. His eyes strain to scrutinize each and every person wearing green within a twenty feet radius but still managed to glance at a few interesting books chanced upon ever few minutes or so. The half hour was starting to feel like an eternity's wait.

Then, a break.

A nondescript girl in green approaches him. Could it be her? Couldn't possibly be. Ben has another image in mind, one that he had forged over months of chatting with somebody he had never actually seen in real life.

He waits for the girl in green to pass by and thinks to himself, this is going to be great. If ever, this might even be the start of something more than friendship.

But the girl isn't going nowhere. The girl instead stops in front of him and says, "Are you Ben? Hi, I'm Alissa."

Ben doesn's reply. He's too dumbfounded. The girl looks too different albeit real, she looks less like Alissa and more like who she really is - a stranger.

Five minutes into the meeting reality starts to crumble. Ben can't think of anything except how different she is from how he had visualized her online. A few minutes more and he finds himself excusing himself from the meet-up and running back into his house - to his room - to his computer, which has unwittingly given him the lie of a lifetime.

The proverbial Cupid's arrow never disintegrates before it's even reached its target. Destruction by contact with reality.

The Information Superhighway has produced yet another roadkilled heart.

And it's a very very busy intersection.

Digital love it seems, is still elusive now more than ever. Why does this happen? Why does it fail? Here's my take on this so called digital love:

The concept of a mutual relationship fails when a person falls in love with an idea rather than the real person behind it.

And you can thank the mass media for that.

In a culture where we are constantly bombarded with worship of ideals rather than actual personality, our bar of standards drifts unusually above the realistic median.

We base our ideal partners of make-believe characters that are most often outrageously far-fetched from real life. We formulate our principles on fictional circumstances that rarely happens outside fiction - warm, supple first kisses in the middle of a carless road on a rainy sunday night, averted partings on a busy airport filled with cheering onlookers, prince charming, sleeping beatuy and the whole caboodle. It does happen, but most often, to others and not us. In essence, we replace our pragmatic learning with that of digital knowledge.

We digitize love, life - the whole package. In bits and bytes. Mixed with other information ranging from fact to fiction. And in doing so, we forfeit our ability to stay in line with reality.

In the early 1990's there was a study conducted regarding the prolonged usage of the then pioneering technology of virtual headseats and hand feedback apparatuses that allowed one to "enter" a virtual dimension. While the project was largely successful in inducing naturalistic behavior in response to artificial stimuli, there was a noticeable side-effect on the users.

After each session, the users had a very difficult time accepting natural stimuli again. Their hand-eye coordination became horribly inaccurate and it took them a long time to fully adjust again. This phenomena is called virtual shock. And it seems, this shock is not limited to just hand-eye coordination.

Oftentimes, people who go looking for love in the internet dislodge the our heart-mind-senses coordination. Instead of the mind relying on the senses to register information about an object, it starts filling up through subconcious Id/Super Id rationalization whatever gaps we find in the person we meet online. When the senses fail, our imagination takes over what vacuum of logic that's left vacant.

The internet leaves too much a vacuum for our emotions and imagination to run wild. It serves as a virtual high that needs no drugs to attain, enabling us to see what we want to see, to become who we want to become, to meet the person of our dreams even if inside another dream.

But that's not really the main problem. In itself, there really isn't any problem in finding relationships online. The whole internet dating game looks good as a concept and looks even better on written paper. As a matter of fact it's convenient. You get to bond with somebody without having to actually spend time physically together.

The problem mainly lies on our desire to drag something from the realm of the farce to reality. They just don't line up, because our imagination can never control what reality has in store for us. We get the virtual shock of the heart.

And for so long as that discrepancy is there, there will always be problems with bringing online relationships to real life.

But that's not to say that cupid doesnt surf the net.

People do fall in love online and yes, Ive known more than a handful who've reached the happily ever after status, somtimes even outlasting real-life fairytale stories. Why and how do matches happen in the net despite everything that I have said?

I think the key to a successful transition lies in three things:

- Keeping expectations low.
- Honesty about as many things as possible.
- The human capacity to adapt to change.

To quote a dialogue from the movie Shakespeare In Love,

Stage cast: It's gonna be ok.
Shakespeare: How is it gonna be ok?
Stage cast: I dont know. It's a mystery.

It could work. The numbers may not be on your side, but it could work.

So if you'll excuse me, I still have to check my mail.

So there's this guy... (more autoquotes)

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

- So there's this guy who tries to pull off an I'm-cooler-than-thou move by saying "Handsome is my middle name." His date, being the natural smartass replies, "I knew it. You're adopted."

-It is wrong to measure a school's teaching aptitude by pointing out achievements done by individuals coming from its walls. Any genius can grow beyond what his school expects of him to become. And since the school does not provide for a genius's genes, they should not be used qualify standards. Instead, we should focus on the dropouts, the rejects. A good school can inculcate knowledge on the broadest spectrum of students - both smart and imbecilic. The fewer the dropouts, the better the education people are getting.

A good midwife isn't benchmarked on her ability to deliver a healthy baby. She's measured on how well she can successfully deliver a sickly one.

- I cant wait to start missing you.

- Talking to you makes me productive. I'd rather work than hear your incessant bitching.

- I guess im the happy idiot, too happy to be smart and too idiotic to be sad.

- Always use your heart for its true purpose - pumping blood and nothing else.

- Beauty is best appreciated in old pictures.

- Forwarded text messages are cool. They give you something to delete when you have nothing better to do.

- Because you cant say awesome without mentioning ME.

- Takot ako sa tubig. Samahan mo akong maligo please.

So there.

Remix The World

Monday, December 18, 2006

I don't know how this happens but at about this time every Christmas, remixes of all of this year's popular pop songs/novelty songs (as in batshit-insane-it's-everywhere -even-in-the-jeepneys kind of popular) start coming out of the woodwork. Dead meme songs come back to life as remixes, reminiscent of zombies coming out to eat people in City of The Dead - though I'm not too sure which one is really more painful, hearing the remixes or having your entrails chewed out by a Michael Jackson clone.

Who finds the time to make all these tracks up anyway? Since it's a remix, it should be one of the remix DJs around the country (because no, DJ Sasha of Mother Russia can't possibly waste his time remixing the latest track of Boom Tarat-Tarat) .

But since we don't have any Christmas DJs around who only appear during christmas spreading joy and laughter and remixed tracks of novelty songs, chances are the people doing these albums are the same DJs who mix your trance music at the local club. Creepy.

Is this their idea of a christmas gift? If I had a DJ friend and I know he's into Christmas remixes, I'd warn him before hand. "You better not be giving me one of those Christmas Remixes - or so help me God I'll have you greeting Jesus face-to-face in heaven."

Did I mention I hate Christmas Remixes? Ah yes. I hate Christmas Remixes.

GTFO of the Water.

Friday, December 15, 2006

I love swimming. It's probably the only sport where you can get tired without actually having to deal with wiping sweat. You don't even have to worry about losing fluids from sweat since they inevitably go back to you when you accidentally swallow that mouthful of pool water. Boom! That's human-centered recycling right there.

Swimming is also a flexible activity. Sometimes you're doing it for exercise, sometimes for the glory of winning, and sometimes you do it so you don't die. When you're doing it to beat your best time, that's a good thing. When you're doing it to beat a tidal wave, that's probably a bad thing. When you're doing it with your friends, that's probably a good thing. When you're doing it with a school of 10-foot great white sharks, it doesn't take a Jacques Cousteau to know you're fucked.

The purpose of swimming also depends on where you're doing it. When you're doing it in clear water with a slight tint of blue - that's a good thing. When you're swimming in puddly brown water with the remains of a house and a Ford F150 racing past you - that can't be a good thing.

And then, you also have the choice of which stroke you can use - there are not a lot of sports that give you different ways of doing the same thing - travelling. In terms of cycling, your coach will be saying "Wow you can cycle really fast, Armstrong. Can you do it with just one leg?" And even if you could, and fast enough, he'd go "Try doing it facing backwards so you don't see what's in front of you."

Maan I hate backstroke. The only thing that you ever see is the ceiling (if indoors) or the sky (if in the middle of the ocean). I bet the sharks would think of strokes on swimmers as methods of cooking an egg.

Shark: I'd like my swimmer hairy side up, please.
Swimmer doing backstroke: *gets eaten*.

Who invents strokes anyway? Like who's the smartass who thought the butterfly stroke should become really famous? Dolphin kick my ass.

inventor: You know, I think I want to invent something new today.
inventor2: Like what?
inventor: A new way of swimming.
inventor2: Whoah. How are you planning to do that?
inventor: Simple, instead of alternately using my two feet, I'll use them at the same time. And instead of alternately using both my arms, I'll use them at the same time too.
inventor2: Won't that look silly?
inventor: Not if we give them good names.
inventor2: Like?
inventor: Dolphin kick for the kick.
inventor2: Ooooh. Everybody loevs dolphins.
inventor: And then butterfly for the stroke itself.
inventor2: Why butterfly?
inventor: I like butterflies.
inventor2: Pure genius.

No really. Butterfly stroke is retarded. Only a good few can perform it properly, and those who can can't even use it longer than other strokes.

And then there's the issue of entering the water as gracefully as possible - diving. You can tell grace by just hearing the sound of the entry. And you don't even have to be a professional judge to do it. If it makes a "plok" sound the same way shit does when it hits the bowl - it's a good dive. When it makes a loud slapping sound, expect to produce tons of laughter as you watch the diver writhe in agonizing pain before sinking to the bottom of the pool and floating back up purplish after a few days.

On pools, avoid the kiddie pool as much as possible, even if you don't know how to swim. Sure it looks safe. And sure, you can't possibly drown on knee-deep water (unless you go diving and make a "plok" sound). But the damage of kiddie pools is more a long-term one. Perform this little experiment. Get a cup full of adult pool water and kiddie pool water of the same amount. Compare and contrast the color of the two contents. That yellowish tinge is not diluted pixie dust. Trust me, even Tinker Bell won't go near those children after they've gone to the water.

Tinker. (*laugh out loud*)

Last message:
Underwear does not belong on the pool. Remove it and wear proper pool attire for crissakes. That's water you'll be swallowing anyway.

Some Japanese Album Covers

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Unique covers are one sure way of attracting people to get to listen to an artist's album. I respect that. However, I still believe that there's a fine line that seperates weird-cool and just plain weird. Some of these Japanese album covers on asian+nation's website cross that line better than Mexicans looking for a better life in America. Covers don't dictate the quality of the music inside, however. They do, however, give you an idea how messed up the artist can get (google:bjork). None of these covers have been photoshopped.

Artist: Shinwha (K-Pop/J-Pop)
Album: Inspiration
Why it's just plain weird:
You can get six people dressed in black to pose for you all day and not find a more ridiculous pose than what these people appear to be in. What exactly are they doing? They're like running, crouching and climbing at the same time. It's like they've just come from full rectal examination and had to run a marathon in black clothes - uphill. Suddenly, wearing black has stopped being cool. Remember those amazingly useless inspiration posters you find on offices, classrooms, and coffee bars? This cover reminds me of that, only I'm not inspired.

Artist: Teriyaki Boys
Album: Beef or Chicken
Why it's just plain weird:
So what's the first thing that comes into your mind when thinking of a digitally mixed hip-hop album? Apparently these people thought about food first. Not only have they named themselves from a marinated cooking technique, they also managed to insert the o-so-famous question aboard any airline "Beef or Chicken?". I can't think the association of culinary meat with hiphop beats. I just cant. The unconvincing drawings of beef and chicken that seemed to have come from a badly drawn cook book almost gives this cover a mistakable purpose of being a subsititute for "Wok with Yan".

Artist: Tsukiko
Albums: Winona Riders, Meg Lion, Sharon Stones
Why it's just plain weird:
The fact that somebody thought of putting name plays of famous Hollywood actresses on albums doesn't really bug me. The fact that scores of people in the record label approved and nodded their bulby heads to what seems to be the most ridiculous titles for albums ever conceptualized does.

What ever happened to "I think this cover should be related to our music because, hey, it's the album cover." kind of thinking?

Covers and copies of the albums can be found here. Go see if the albums live up to the reputations of the covers.

Irony of Youth

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

It's sad fact that majority of the most sincere hugs and kisses that we'll be recieving in our lifetimes will happen during the first few years after our conception. We're bound to forget about those moments as we grow up, with only the lingering sensation of a lost past to lead us on and desperately spend the rest of our lives seeking anything that can par that which we've forgotten.

If ever there's indeed heaven on earth, I believe it does not appear at the end of one's life. Instead, it lies in the beginning - when our existence is acknowledged by those who we do not know, those we have never done any good to, and those who cannot possibly understand us.

For the guys, tits and pussy. If you're less than a year old and you're reading this, wow. Just kidding. I just want to say enjoy the moment. After that, nothing will be without a pricetag anymore.

Ah, the irony of youth.

Thanks for the thought, Symbs.

Dos and Donts of Exchange Gifts

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Let's face it. We're all afraid of the unknown. Not knowing about something is oftentimes more scary than knowing the details, because the last thing anybody ever wants is getting caught with their pants down and johnnies up. In the same light, exchange gifts can be just as scary.

Giving a gift is scary because you don't know how well the person recieving it will react - with the reactions ranging from a french kiss to serveral new gun holes on your forehead. If giving gifts can be likened to a roller coaster, random exchange gifts can be likened to riding that same roller coaster while nine months pregnant. Double jeopardy - you can't even get an idea on who will be receiving the gift because everything is drawn out randomly.

So basically you'll be buying stuff you wouldn't want for yourself for people you don't know, who will react in a way you can't possibly guess, who's view of you for the next 364 days or so will be gauged on that single gift.

Take this short break as an opportunity to change your pants in case you've wet yourself reading the previous statement. (It's excusable)

That said, I've prepared a short list of things that you should be aware of when inevitably partaking in this activity. Just because it's scary doesn't mean we can't face it unprepared (well, sort of).

1. Don't use live animals as gifts.
Trust me, even if it fits the "worth 500" category nicely, pets are anything but pleasant gifts. I remember a couple of years ago, my company had a "something alive" theme for the gifts. A few hours before the gift giving, several of the animals broke out and started turning the storage room into their own wildlife preserve. Several pets were lost during the incidents, including 1 garter snake, 2 dead rabbits and 1 sysad whose body is still missing.

2. Do wrap your gifts properly.
This is probably the only good thing that you can really get good at in exchange gift activities, because no matter who the person who will be receiving the gift is, they'll really appreciate seeing effort in the wrapping without thinking money spent on the wrapping is money taken away from the value of the actual gift. Presentation counts. Here's a short list of good and bad things to use for wrapping things:

- Brand new paper giftwrappers.
- Shipment container used for import cars.
- Dollar bills taped to each other.
- Chocolate coating.

- Used giftwrappers.
- 10 year-old newspapers.
- 10 year-olds.
- Hospital bandages.

3. Don't choose gifts suggestive of any sort of fetish.
When buying gifts, it's good to buy gifts that you know everybody will enjoy. However, there's a limit to this. When choosing what gift to wrap in your choice of wrapping medium, always consider that the gift should be enjoyable AND enjoyable in public. Remember that gifts will be opened in front of everybody during a party. The last thing you want is that somebody you've graced with your gift running around chasing you with a battery-operated twelve-inch dildo in hand with an intent to kill you from behind (Haha.)

True story: During one of our kris kringles, an officemate gave me a wrapped gift for a "Something naughty theme". Being a very busy man, I gave the gift to my younger sister so she can unwrap it. As it turns out, the gift was a gay porn VCD complete with a colored cover of two men slapping salamis. They havent found the body of that officemate, and I don't think they ever will.

4. Do try to get gender/age inspecific gifts.
In line with the item above, it's also wrong to choose a gift that will only be usable to the opposite sex/age bracket. Tampons, for example, are not useful to men, no matter how hard you try to improvise. Viagra and horse porn aren't good choices either since you won't be too sure if the recipient will be a horny old man who fancies farm-bred ass ( in case he gets both).

As a counterpostulate, I'd just like to state that things like money, cellphone load, and post-dated cheques do not count as gender-inspecific gifts, or gifts for that matter, specially when it comes to exchange gift activities.

5. Do make sure you get the recipient's name right.
There's nothing more annoying that somebody who gives a gift and still gets the name, or codename, wrong. Whatever sense of thoughtfulness the gift has vanishes when your name gets all f'ed up. Seriously. Spellcheck. It's only a few letters. Get it right.

6. Don't write your name on the gift box.
This is the last advice. Give the gift but don't write your name on the box. If anything happens, at least you don't have your name on the evidence. Any lawyer that you might be needing in the future (if ever) will be grateful you've done that part right. In case shit, you can just go run around screaming "Don't shoot the messenger!" without any pants on. It works really well, specially if the room isn't too cold.

So there you have it. My short guide to exchange gifts. Happy wrapping and I hope you survive to experience next year's exchange gift again!

Prayer Drama

Sunday, December 10, 2006

(prepost warning: not for the religiously intolerant. If you think this post' s not for you, come back again after a few days. I will not reply to half-assed and ungrounded messages about this topic. Kthx.)

So I've been told at school that prayer's a conversation between you and God. Like you're His son/daughter and he's your Pops, in a couch, having a talk. And He's always good. And He provides. Summing the teachings about Him up, He's supposed to be perfect.

A perfect dad to talk to.

Simple concept, but there' s one thing I don't get.

Why is it that almost everybody I've seen praying have these looks on their faces that are: sad, frustrated, desperate, crying, peaceful as a rock in the middle of the forest. Why is it that people never really smile or laugh?

I mean, whenever I talk to my great parents, most of the time I'm smiling. Sure, there're other times I might have a different facial expression but most of the time it's always smiles. And they're not even perfect. What more if you're like talking to a perfect parent, right?

Is it because we only pray about things we want to whine and bitch about? I wouldn't really know what people are praying for. Most people who do tell me what they prayed about though never fail to use the term "pray for". Maybe it's just me but don't you find that least bit strange how we almost always think of prayer as "requesting" for things when we're at the same time annoyed/pissed at people who only talk to us when they need something?

So maybe God stopped getting pissed after the Old Testament (the rumble at the temple episode is one exception, because that's His Son laying the smackdown) but that shouldn't be a real reason why we should just keep on asking like He's Santa, everyday's christmas and we're All Saints (not the group) - and then occassionaly lay the blame on the Big Man when we don't get what we want. Reminds me of the line "Wowowee, sinong di mawiwili?"

And I hate that song.

Back to the topic.

Or is it because we were taught to be solemn and stuff when praying? Where did that come from anyway? What's the difference between being solemn and being natural when praying? Will God stop ignoring us when we become noisy? Noisy children get more attention is what my instincts tell me.

I won't keep this long since it's a very uncomfortable topic for a lot of people. Here's my thought. If you really want a good conversation, act natural. If you hate people asking stuff from you like you're a vending machine, stop treating everybody else that way (including those you cannot see or annoy). And if you want your feelings to be acknowledged, don't be afraid to show expression.

And like my mom used to tell me when I was a kid, always say Please and Thank You.

That is all.

Cosplay Drama

You know, I consider myself as a man of low expectations. I easily get amused. It doesn't take a feat or a heavenly miracle to get me all entertained and stuff. Give me something like that and I'll orgasm on spot. Cosplaying for example, I find a good form of entertainment. Even bad costumes are good enough for laughs. Of course most of them weren't intended to be objects of ridicule, but I still think being able to make people smile, intentional or not, is a service to humanity ( so keep slipping on that damn bananan peel, old man)

Good cosplay, I'm amused. Bad cosplay, I'm amused. Simple formula where I cant possibly be annoyed right?


I was at the AME Matsuri today watching group cosplays when one of the groups called "Jigoku Shojou (Girl from Hell)" came onstage. I've seen some of the costumes they were wearing and I found them really awsome, so I thought - they belong to the good cosplay half. I shall be amused.

Then this assblock went on stage like a boxing round girl sporting a banner "SOMEBODY STOLE OUR FORUM LINK". My shittrap detector started sending red flags immediately, but since it was a very good day for me, I said I'll let it pass, it was just probably some insider joke.

Then Darth Vader appeared onstage. A half-assed darth who looked less like darth vader and more like a shitty cosplay for a school play. More banners started appearing, completely unrelated to the anime series Jigoku Shojou. My brain shortcircuited at that point.

After several implications about how Darth Vader stole their forum link and how he's a bad man, Darth went on humiliating himself with the aide of the actual cosplayers for Jigoku Shojou. Later the drath removed his mask to show another mask - a printed out face of a guy nobody recognized (albeit a real filipino person).

Suffice to say, nobody got amused. At least not those people who cared less about what the charade meant. I do know what that was about though. If you hang around Filipino forums for cosplay enough, you get to see more drama than Nicole's rape case.

Here's the jist of it: Two forums exist for the same purpose - cosplay discussion. One of them is filcosplay and the other is pinoycosplay. Pinoycosplay owner bought both filcosplay.coma nd because they were both available and then linked it to the pinoycosplay messageboard.

Link stolen?

"ZOMG I cant direct link to Filcosplay using I am therefore invalidated as a human beings and will no longer be allowed to have babies to spread seeds for future generations!"

BOO HOO. Shit happens. Suck it up you bunch of cockloaders. Even worse is that all this happened MORE THAN A YEAR AGO already. You'd think with such small brains they'd forget faster than normal people. Grudges gets priority, I guess.

I'm not siding with PinoyCosplay owner Mike Abundo. I dont discriminate like that. I think everybody involved with the issue are a bunch of asstraps who are wasting waay to much time on shitty cosplay drama. And to a very lengthy extent, I dont even give a damn.

But when you start thinking you can settle shit by turning an innocent group cosplay skit into a political statement befitting of a Mendiola Rally, you're involving people who aren't supposed to be involved. And you're ruining the fun out of a really good, honest event (with lots of sexy costumes and innuendos)

First, political statements are useless if they dont get to the target. Ejaculated semen not hitting any eggs is just masturbation. Second, political statements are useless when nobody CARES. Why not just cosplay like normal weirdos? We'll all walk away happy like that.

COSPLAY DRAMA. Even with little, we've all had more than enough.


Friday, December 08, 2006

Sorry if I havent gotten the time to post anything new or creative or fun. I've been busy this past week with a boatload of other things. Anyway here's another interesting video of how chatrooms would look like if done in real-life.

I laughed out loud - not because it's all fake but it's something too real. 8 years of chatting, yeah.

Scary Poppins

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Remember that semi-musical from Disney, Mary Poppins? I just have to post this trailer made from re-edits from the original film. Who would have thought you can actually change a movie's genre by just rearranging scenes?


Wednesday, December 06, 2006

A few days ago I had a chat with TensaiMan (owner of Insanity Prelude) and talked about the possiblity of Suzumiya Haruhi No Yuutsu or The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi's release on some American cartoon channel.

The fact that it will be shown on American soil isn't much of a big deal, but since it's a kiddie-friendly channel, the show will have to be "Americanized". The speculated resulting translations of the names that he and his friends came up with were hilarious, with the proposed title going as "The Antics of Harriet Susan Mayers" or something like that. It's funny but that's what usually happens when animes hit American shores.

I'm not too sure about where it all started but I first got a glimpse of "americanization" back in '96 when I visited the States for the first time. From what I remember, America was just beginning to embrace anime back then - more specifically, Sailor Moon and Dragonball. I barely recognized the two from the overhaul of names the dubbers gave 'em when I saw their first episodes. And you can just imagine how confused people got when they went online and checked for pictures of their favorite anime.

(it's like the name shuffling issue in Street Fighter, which is of a totally different nature but produced the same problems nonetheless)

Maybe the American distributors thought it best to gradually introduce America to those "weird neighbors" from the far east by filtering as much of the Japanese in the animes as possible, by removing traces of japanese names for starters, since the last time America really had wanted to do anything with Japan, 2 bombs exploded in Mr. Nihon's backyard, causing death and bad teeth. Talk about bad neighbors huh?

We did it here in the Philippines too. Remember Ghost Fighter? Yuu yuu Hakusho, the original title, translates roughly to "Ghost Visitor's Report". All the names were altered too, with the protagonist Yusuke's name changed to "Eugene" etc. Even Jeremiah's gender was altered. Apparently the dubbers thought she was a he when she first appeared and named her aptly as "Jeremiah".

Then we grew out of it, at least partially. Nowadays dubbers try to stick with what's given in Japanese and only deviate when it's necessary. We're no longer too surprised to mention an person named Azuma Kazuma or Kikyo even if it sounds funny in our native tongue.

I wonder when that sort of thing will happen to America though. Maybe not for a while I think. Pronunciation issues alone can make things complicated already. Try making an American man read "Futanaris" and "Tomoe".

So maybe I want to try it too. Suppose Death Note gets ported to the States and Americanized. What would it look like?

Title: Scribbles of Doom

Death in the title is too evil and the Note part is a bit abiguous. Here are the rest of the translations for terms:

Shinigami (Death God)
- Angel of Death (to avoid issues regarding monotheism)

Raito - Dwight.
L-San - Emerson.
Misa - Mary Sue
Ryuk - Luke

Suddenly it doesn't sound so cool anymore...


Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Long story short, this is the internet. You can basically pretend to be anybody you want. And if an idiot like you can pull it off, chances are, they'd be able to pull it off too. Doubt everything. Use the common belief "If it sounds stupid, it probably is." It'll save your ass a lot of hassle and humiliation.

Special thanks to Colin Brumell for the wonderful webapp used to generate these funny emails. Just wait till I send a couple of letters of resignation...

The Numbers of Love

Monday, December 04, 2006

Aristophanes was one of the first people who proposed in document that love is basically finding the other half that makes you whole: a soul mate. This was 2,500 years ago - 10,000 in dog years, if you're counting, and 1,250 in tortoise years if you hate big numbers.

Since then, the whole business of romance and destinism and the unending quest to determine one's soul mate has evolved from a shot of wine's rant to a belief to a cult to a religion to a culture and finally an immutable pillar of contemporary Westernized civilization as the principle of fated monogamy. It's like that large post in the middle of the building lobby that occasionally collides with some happy idiot unaware of its presence.

But then again, 2,500 years ago, we all thought the world was flat too. 2,500 years ago, it was safe to believe such things because of three things: it was convenient, it separated us from animals, and it was difficult to prove otherwise.

Well, we all laugh at the idea that the world is flat and is carried by the back of a turtle named Pong the Great. We now call the turtle "Earth", and he's less like a turtle now and more like a circular rock orbiting a large cosmic bonfire singing campfire songs.

But we still believe in the monogamist soul mate theory, because:

a) it's convenient
b) it's romantic and
c) the otherwise can't be proven.

A human being's average lifespan is 66 - 86 if you're Japanese, 30 if you're on top of the 8-MCDO Delivery Service Most Frequent Customers. The average age of a metropolitan Filipino who marries is 25. That means you effectively waste 35% of your lifespan finding the "right one" or wondering if the person you're already with is indeed the "right one".

It doesn't end there.

Although we do not have divorce here in the Philippines, recent surveys conducted by a social weather group pegged three couples out of five who are in a state of unhappiness at age 35-40 - ripe for a nonexistent motion for divorce. That means even though you've spent a generous amount of your non-sterile life looking for your mate, there's still a large chance you'll fail at finding Mr. or Ms. Perfect.

In nature, monogamy does exist, but the numbers aren't favoring the cause. 90% of birds are monogamous. In mammals, only 3% are monogamous. Although the number rises to 15% in primates, it is said that man isn't included in the 3 of 20 of the odds. In short, nobody expects man to be monogamous except himself. The average orangutan, for example, does not wait for his dream girl to come. The moment he becomes sexually active at age 15, he starts looking for a mate - any mate he can get his hands on, and shall continue to seek new mates throughout his effective lifespan. At that age, a human boy can only look to the stars and his hand - any activity becoming of the young orangutan's shall be frowned upon (and penalized where such applies)

So prevalent is the thought that one's existence cannot be fulfilled that it has etched even in the most primitive of communications: insult. Get a girlfriend, will you? A startling majority of contemporary songs are about finding/keeping/losing the "one". For all the knowledge imparted in these songs, you'd think matchmaking can finally evolve as a science.

But it has not. 2,500 years hence, we're still the same clueless tards before - only with jeans isntead of air-cool robes.

Listen, I'm saying all of this not because I'm a cynical bastard who thinks love is just our brain's wire way of tricking us to copulate. That's of another issue. I'm telling you this because as a man/woman from the future looking back at 2,500 years of chasing and dreaming, you can do better than just that.

You don't need a special someone to validate your existence. You're special already with our without him/her. And while we're at it, stop thinking that there is indeed a special person in this world destined by fate to be just for you. That leaves you with so much expectation. And where there is expectation, disappointment usually follows.

Added to that, there's also this thought that without that fated person, you're incomplete. That's bullshit. You're beautiful already the way you are. You are not some lost item of God's two-for-one sale. Leave that for twins (and in such cases, the term "double delight" should be used instead). That's if you're theist. If you're atheist, well, why the fuck are you even reading this when you can go proclaim your "deep profound understanding in the belief of nothing"?

Anatomically, you do not need constant reassurance of another person who has more than 95% similar biological structure to you save for few missing/interchanged body parts. Your existence is guaranteed with or without a partner because you're complete already as you are.

It is said that man is the animal with the longest mating season of all - 360 plus days in a year, life's a simple dance of orgy. It doesn't have to be that way. There's more to life than just you and your soul mate.

When the time comes, the Emperor penguin selects his mate from a colony of more than a million, and he indicates his choice by rolling a stone at the female's feet. If she accepts this gift, they stand belly to belly and sing a mating song. The whole process lasts for about a day.

His brain is wired to select the best possible mate in the existing group. He does not dream of having one that he cannot see. And he does not dream about it before the mating season comes. Before that, he's just happy to be not eaten by killer whales, sea lions, and eskimos.

You're lucky you don't have to deal with the killers as much as a penguin does. Because, like I said, you can do better. Quit dreaming and wait for your mate when he or she comes. When "it" does happen, learn to accept your mate for who or she is and not for what you think fate has in store for you.

Between you and me, I think love is not a secret power that's grantedly unlocked between two people destined for each other. It's the strength constantly exerted by a couple to be together because they think they're at best odds emotionally, physically and mentally. This strength, to overcome what may come their way.

At least, it's more logical to think of it that way.

But then again, that's just me.

The heart is perfectly good for pumping blood and keeping all parts of the body well sustinenced. It helps regulate all muscular, anabolic and catabolic reactions in you. No one is sure how it's evolved to develop such proficiency in so many essential activities for sustaining life. One thing is for sure though, it wasn't evolved to make logical decisions.

Live with your heart. Think with your head.

That’s what makes you beautiful.


This article is commissioned by somebody who wishes to be anonymous, and is published only with due permission. To preserve value of the actual article, I'm posting the first draft by my own will. I would recommend that you talk to me first before you copypasta.

Dates, Dates, Dates

Saturday, December 02, 2006

There are just some dates that don't work out the way they're supposed to. Or not supposed to, depending on your level of pessimism and/or menstrual angst. I was thinking of a really curious way to dispel a date faster than antibiotics kills dysmenorreha [sic] while passing time in MoA earlier. This is what came out:

girl: Isn't this just dreamy? I think I've seen this scene in a movie before.
guy: yeah, every date with you is like watching widscreen version.
girl: excuse me, what did you just say?
guy: Sorry, I wasn't saying it clearly enough. I mean, I feel like I'm with IMAX.
girl: IMAX? How dare you! I'm not that fat!
guy: and every time the feature is always about bigass dinosaurs on PMS.
girl: This date is so over.
guy: Great, I've been wanting to watch some other movie already.
guy: This whole godzilla thing is no longer working out for me.
girl: Fuck you and your entire clan!
guy: That expression of yours will make good promotional poster by the way.
guy: Just a tip.

Sometimes you just have to put your best foot forward during a date. Othertimes, it's that same foot that must go up somebody else's ass. If you're the guy in this case, it'd be your foot up your own ass - probably shoved by an enraged date.

I'd rather be dead than be caught saying that to a date. God knows what happens when you cross that fine line into the territory of unprovoked comments about woman's weight. I've had several friends missing already because of that.

I still see there faces.

On the back of milk cartons.

Well not really but it'll probably say:

Noberto Cruz, aged 20, he was last seen wearing longsleeves and funky date hair.
Last known whereabout is somewhere in Tomas Morato with a date.
He was saying something about how some asses dont deserve shorty shorts.
If you see him, kindly notify him that he's the first one to actually surive a raging-demon-phenomenon.

So to all the guys out there, don't push it. You may think it's a good way to stop bad things from going wrong, but exploding an atomic bomb to fix an itch wont be worth it.

Unless of course you like pain in a strange erotic way.

In which case, make sure other people wont get caught in the blast.

Trust me, when it happens, people will get hurt.

Why I Took Up Computer Programming

Friday, December 01, 2006

Two words: Computer Man.

In case you're not old enough, Computer Man is a superhero series that was aired during the early 90s starring Eric Quizon as the superhero who goes by the name "Computer Man".

Computer man wears black tights adorned by a singular symbol of the milky way. A hacker by profession (yes, there were hackers already during the 90's), he got struck by strange light from the milky way, which gave him the ability to get inside computers and the power to turn into bits (that's how they explained it) and travel through electric wiring.

(Dammit, I don't have to answer all your silly questions about why he got hit like that, why his powers are related to computers and how the hell the producers found association between stars and computers. It's just that way. Stop playing CSI on my ass.)

As a kid I found the show cool. Buddy from Buddy and Sol kicking ass. What a sight! And he likes computers too! I enjoyed it. Apparently there weren't a lot of people giving the same reaction as future-nerd young-version of me.

The show got cancelled after a few months, probably because of the shitty sidekick he had - computer kid. God I hate that kid. If computer man is a program, he'd be like a bug - the annoying type that causes everything to hang up.

So anyway, I thought, if I became a hacker, maybe I can get hit by some strange ray from outerspace too and get the ability to digitize myself and travel inside computers via the internet.

Oh man, think of the porn. Well, I'm a programmer now and I think I have enough know-hows in hacking. I have my black suit ready too.

Now about that cosmic ray...

10 Signs That You're Dating An Alien from Outer Space

Thursday, November 30, 2006

- When you go out to watch special screenings of ET, he occassionally mumbles how aliens are being badly stereotyped.

- When he says he'll pick you up, he literally does using a tractor beam.

- Fly Me To The Moon is not a track song playing in the car. It's a date activity.

- People from immigration wearing black suits keep on following your ass.

- Whenever he mentions the telephone, his index finger glows red.

- Instead of an erection, something tubelike comes out of his mouth.

- His name is longer than your entire name combined - and he's not from Thailand.

- He doesn't think Michael Jackson is weird.

- He thinks you're cute.

- You're saying to yourself right now, "Nah, this isn't like him at all. God this is such a bad update Jet. When will you come up with updates that aren't random as hell?" But you're wrong.

That's what he wants you to think. The aliens, they're out there.

They will eat your liver when you're not looking (or when you say the bouquet of venus flowers he sent you smells like ratpoison).

Some people think I have xenophobia because I got abducted by aliens and got anally probed as a kid - don't believe those agents of the graymen, I was no longer a kid when that happened.

True story.

Quoting Your Own Life

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

I think I've mentioned already before that I like collecting quotes. After a while I started making my own stuff which I regularly post here. Last night, a good friend of mine asked me about quotes. It was completely random, out of the blue. And it went like this:

Lyra: anong love quote mo??

After that a long pause.

Jet: haha funny, for all the quotes i have in my head, wala ako maalalang love quote

And then it hit me like the fist of an angry god into the anus of an unsuspecting temple visitor. I couldn't think of anything. No nada. Kalas. Nichts. Niente. NOTHING. My magical time/space warp brain flashed back to six years ago, ENGLONE class during freshman college. I remember our professor asking the very same question to me: "How about you, young man. Do you have a quote about love?"

I answered her with the shortest answer possible: stunned silence.

Figuring, there's no talking to a Machete turned into wood, she then replies: "Aw, no quotes? Maybe you've never been in love before."

I won't lie, I felt embarassed at that moment - slightly a bit more than I was last night (maybe because being freshman in college meant being able to piss higher than anybody else in a tacit pissing contest, and not being able to answer meant your peepee puttering out midway into the duel-o-dorkness)

And I thought a year or two of writing love stories -some of which got plagiarised a lot - would change my ability to think of a good love quote at a moment's notice. Well, I guess that didn't quite do the trick. Last night, it was ENGLONE all over again.

After a few minutes (i.e. half an hour of staring blankly at the damn monitor), quotes started flowing again. I was able to give a several quotes without any problems. For all of them though, I felt they were just inadequate. They were love quotes - yes. But not my love quote.

I guess if ever there's a topic I really have a hard time defining with a short witty line - it'd be love. For all the witticisms I've done I just cant make up one line that really says a lot about it. Maybe I just need inspiration. Or maybe I just lack the blood alcohol content. Or both.

Or maybe somethings are just beautiful because they can't be contained in something so small.

(And no, I'm not talking about fat-tards trying to fit into leather boots and micro minis dying to disintegrate from all the fatty masses crammed inside them. )

One day I'll be able to make a quote - or find one for myself - it doesnt matter. It'd be one that I can quickly say without any hesitation - or disappointment. It'd define love for me - and for everybody who hears it. When I find that one, I know exactly what to do.

I'll make bumper stickers out of it.

Then I'm going to be fucking rich.

This is a half-serious disclosed post from the private section of this blog that wasn't supposed to be appearing on the primary page. Public Static Void Main. Get it hahaha! *snort* hahahah!

Lazy Town = More Communism

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

People say Communism is dead. I say it's just evolving. A friend of mine showed me the video of a children's show Lazy Town singing a song about Baking A Cake. They may have fooled the rest of the world but not me. I know there's communist propaganda in that show. Just read the lyrics of this "baking a cake" song (I put in commentaries in communist red - the way they do it in soviet russia).

I’ll put in some ingredients
but keep the rest for me
I’m not just disobediant
I’m careful can’t you see

Stingy is a capitalist pig (i.e. he's from the United States. See how he keeps ingredients for himself? Capitalism is bad. He's not working but look how much he's earning.


It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake
if the way is ha-zy
you gotta do the cooking by the book
you know you can’t be la-zy

There are two things that cannot be tolerated in the soviet union: Laziness and willingness to try something new without due permission from the Comrades. Remember, being different is the first step to godless capitalism.

never use a messy recipe

the cake would end up cra-zy

The idea of being unique is once again reitrerated and lambasted. If you don't do things uniformly, there will be no cake.

if you do the cooking by the book
then you’ll have a cake

Conversely, if you do anything in pure socialist style, you will have your cake.

we gotta have it made
you know that I love cake
finally it’s time to make a cake


Making food is just like science
with tools that shred and baste

Notice the usage of "shred" - to cut and "baste" - to strike. Those two activities are the basic symbols of Proletariat Propaganda. Hammer and Sickle - ring a bell?

every fun appliance
gives the food a different taste

Hammer and Sickle = fun.

Baking Cake song? I dont think so. Maybe a "let komrad Lenin be immortalized by painting the world red" for a title suits this song better. Because in Soviet Russia, the cake bakes YOU!

Anyway so you dont doubt me that this song is not just a faker. Watch the video here:

Los Baños Botanical Garden

Monday, November 27, 2006

So a friend of mine and I were talking about having gone to UP Los Baños at some point in our lives. I then think, who hasn't? Anybody who's been to enough field f'ing trips back in gradeschool/highschool should have gone there at least twice. I can't even count how many times I've been there. UPLB Botanical Garden is like a fieldtrip mecca. It's like no matter where we're supposed to be going for that field trip, we always end up having lunch/taking hikes in the UPLB botanical gardens. Swear. If it's not Jose Rizal's shitty house, it's the freaking botanical garden. And given the choice between the two, the latter always wins.

But then again, UPLB botanical gardens is anything but a garden.

A garden is where you take leisurely walks with flatland grass and shrubbery around you, and butterflies and other stuff. Then go you for tea or some other snack like crumpets and toffees. That's what I call garden. This botanical garden means going into steep trails that are slippery and wet 50% of the time (usually around the time most schools decide to go have a field trip here). There's no food available and the "botanical" part is basically big ass trees that you can see in any other part of the freaking mountain that you're on (because hey, you're in a mountain - trees are EVERYWHERE).

People don't even bother to give you a lowdown on what you can do there. They just tell you "Don't get lost. Don't drink the water in the stream. Don't die."

And then there's always this one idiot who slips/falls down/drowns in ankle-deep water everytime we go there. Always. What a party spoiler. I'm not saying going there can be likened to a party, but if ever there was one, having somebody die on you kinda spoils the fun (because the red from the blood doesnt match green). My teacher says it's probably Mariang Makiling at work (the resident faerie from folklore). I say it's just the omnipresent power of stupidity to screw things up.

Maaan I hate that place.

Minor note:
If you're Filipino and up to now you still dont know how to type the enye (ñ) on your keyboard, go chew on it. It's (hold)alt+165+(release)alt. Ñente?

I accidentally wrote 169. Slip of the Freud. Tit wasnt intentional. I swear.

Still More About Elevators

Sunday, November 26, 2006

This is my third article concerning elevators. For some reason, I just never run out of comments about elevators. For something so small, plain, and mundane, there sure as hell are a lot of things to talk about.

Here are a couple of more observations inside elevators (particulary here in the Philippines):

Everybody likes to stare at the floor number. Maybe it's the awkwardness of having to stare at how badly-dressed the guy next to you is or how long the legs the hottie you're standing against are, or maybe it's the simple hypnotic allure of two red digits changing predictably - I'm not really sure. What I am sure of is that the floor number indicator always gets the attention it wants. Maybe if you're a camwhore, you should consider spending the rest of your life as LED for an elevator.

Next, people like to be out of the elevator as quickly as possible. Even if the cabin is a few feet away from the stop point, the door hasn't opened yet, and people are jammed between those who want to get out and the elevator exit. They'd go "Excuse me!" even though everybody knows, nobody's getting out until the elevator opens. Jesus. It's not like the floor will leave if you don't hop off in time you know? This isn't sky diving. The elevator _will_ wait for you to hop off. But noooo, people just have to squeeze themselves to the exit at the inconvenience of everybody inside just so they have that "amazing race" advantage.

By "amazing race" I mean "special children".

Lastly, I don't know about other elevators but in our residential elevator, there are a LOT of vandalisms. Most of them don't even make any sense. All I see are indecipherable writings of what looks like numbers, names, the name of our building (yes, somebody was retarded enough to "brand" our elevator with the building's name - maybe so the elevator doesn't get misplaced perhaps) and various intricate (i.e. shitty) diagrams of the male genetalia.

Don't get me wrong. I used to vandalize and scribble on walls too. Then I turned three.

As a saving grace though, there's one vandalism there that does justice to what it stands for. On a corner of Elevator B, there exists one written word: STUPID.

Previous Articles For Reference:

Apologies: Serious Business.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

I apologize to the people whose trusts I appear to have betrayed by posting information I supposedly held in confidence. It was not my wish or plan to have that particular post published sometime ago as it was supposed to be an entry in the private section of this blog. I admit that it was very reckless of me to have ended up doing so and in making up for that, I have deleted the entry entirely.

Again, my apologies. Not a real post, just a message to the affected.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, good for me.

This is not a regular post, just a notice of apology.

AdSense and Sensibility

Friday, November 24, 2006

(warning: post not internationalized. come back tomorrow for a full english update)

Ang dami na ngayon na kumukita dahil sa Google Ads. Yung ibang blog na nakikita ko, kinarir na yung bagbebenta ng kung ano-ano sa website nila, mukhang divisioria na yung website, pero dahil dun, hindi na rin sila kailangan magtrabaho pa sa laki ng kinikita. Ayos diba? Parang Mayor na sila bigla, mayari ng isang e-palengke online.

So naisip ko, bakit hindi rin ako? So nagsign up ako sa Google tapos nakiusap ako kay pareng Impe (yung mayari ng Google na taga Project 6 - ewan ko rin, yun sabi nya nung nakausap ko sya sa YM eh. Naniniwala naman ako) . Sabi ko, puro pinoy ads lang ilagay sa site ko kasi gusto ko maging makabayan gaya ni Belorya (yung expat na taga Hawaii).

Pumayag naman si pareng Impe. Kaya eto, may advertisment na rin ako sa website ko. Click nyo para dumami rin pera ko at hindi ko na kailangan pang akyatin bahay nyo at magpahabol sa aso gabi-gabi habang may daladalang colored television set saka betamax.

Click na!

Traditional Origins

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Today, the town of Agono celebrates Higantes festival - where 10-foot giant papermache people (a.k.a. higantes) are paraded in the streets while spectators try to get each other as wet as possible, in the wholesome water-driven way. The festival is a tradition that is hundreds of years old, meaning at least three generations have done the same things over and over again - every year, for the last hundred years or so.

I just got to wondering, how do traditions like this get started anyway? I mean, sure it's easy to convince people to go crazy and splash each other with putrid river water and go build ridiculously big giants by saying "it's tradition" and that "our parents did it too" but what about the first people to actually do it? Did they make those giants thinking of it as a start of tradition or was it out of a need that they did it like so many other starts of traditions?

The mentioned origins of the Higantes festival is said to be the miraculous return of a statue of San Clemente after it was stolen by thieves from the church, chained and hurled into a lake. The statue was said to be recovered after a fisherman caught the statue on its net, without the manacles and chains.

I dont know, but the origin itself sounds like a conspiracy to me. What's more likely:

A statue gets stolen by a bunch of bandidos. They chain it up (using chain they probably bought/made with their own sweat/blood/tears) and just hurl the gold-coated statue into the lake like they dont need the money. Bandidos are like that. They're rich afterall. Why would they be bandidos if they didn't have the money? Anyway, the heavy statue magically floats to the surface using heavenly powers and removes it's chains all incredible hulk and stuff and then attaches itself to the net of an unsuspecting fisherman who is honest enough to return a gold-crusted catch to the church.


A statue gets stolen by a bunch of bandidos because it's crusted with gold. The local priests worry that they may never find the statue and just pretend the nameless bandidos actually threw it in the lake. They make a copy of the statue, hire a fisherman to "pretend" he caught it as though it's the real thing and then go around calling it a miracle while effectively replacing the religious icon and at the same time giving it a miraculous aura.

I think it's the first one. It sounds more plausible. I mean, we all know statues are known to move every now and then. Look at Machete. He not only moves. He moves.

So anyway, what has giants got anything to do with the returning statue? And why do people needlessly get themselves wet for that matter? I imagine the prototraditionists (my new word for people who start traditions) to have conversed something like this:

Pedro: So I've heard the statue's returned to us.
Juan: Praise be! We should celebrate.
Pedro: Okay, I'll go kill a cow or two.
Juan: Wait, that's not enough. I want this celebration to be tit-awesome.
Pedro: Like how? How do we party like it's 1898?
Juan: I'm thinking big.
Pedro: I'm thinking lots of people.
Juan: Wait. Why dont we combine our ideas?

Well, maybe not. Maybe the giants are just there to attract attention, like the way drunk girls like to flash their flaccid boobies at passersby. And what better way to convey penis envy than huge "men"?

As for the splashing part, I think that because men were involved in the planning of the first festival (back then women were treated no better than furniture), the water splashing is just inevitable. I mean you just cant go wrong with parties that have wet t-shirt contests.

I <3 watching Wet T-Shirt Contests.

And I'm sure the giants do too.

Coffee = Sex

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

It's amazing how long commercials that make use of sexual innuendos have been around. From that banned Tender Juicy hotdog commercial we had some 10 years ago to the newer energy drink commercials we have today, these commercials bank on the human potential to believe anything that implores their need to satisfy the third primal urge: sex.

One particularly good example is this relic commercial of the coffee brand Folgers. At first glance it sounds innocent, but when you make a second watching (or first, granted you've read and understood the first paragraph of this post) . Note that this commercial is authentic and probably older than a lot of people you know.

Actually I'd still prefer commercials like these. There's art in being a wiley sunnovabitch to get your targeted market to buy your product. Nowaday's we'd just settle for outright association - like that rubbershoes commercial that aired during pacquiao's fight. There's a shoe onscreen and a near naked woman about the same size of the shoe beside it. The commercial doesn't even bother to make the association, and the woman just stays there.

Totally brainless.

Maybe if they added the tagline "Real men use rubber." it just might work.

*cough* plug *cough* I should start considering a career in marketing.

Anytime now...

Initial D Lyrics

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Initial D is a popular anime about drift racing. I won't go into detail as to what drift racing is - we have wikipedia for that. One stunning aspect of Initial D is that it's literally swimming in japanese eurobeat songs with english lyrics. Sometimes, the lyrics just get plain wacky. Wacky may range from "What the hell are they trying to say" to "I hope they just didnt say what I heard them say."

Here are some samples of the craziness of Initial D Eurobeat:

Song #1 Running in the 90's by Dark Angels

We are running in the nineties, is a new way to set me free
I'm just running in the nineties
yes I wanna know, yes I wanna see
Cyber talking
Cybersex is on the line
New desire

I'm guessing that the 90's is the speed at which theyre going - and hopefully in American miles and not in kilometers. What speeding has to do with cybersex though, I have no idea.

Song #2 24 Hours a Day With You by J.Storm

You're like a bomb like a bursting fire.
Burning around the place.
Fill me tonight my bed desires.
I wanna see your face.

If I were an arsonist pyromaniac who happens to like to watch anime, maybe this song will turn me on. Having an entire song about burning shit while making love is just plain freaky. I mean "you make me hot" sounds nice but mentioning "bomb like a bursting fire" crosses the line of domestic violence right there.

Song #3 Back On The Rocks

In the beginning you get crazy, spending all the money you got.
No more women to love you now, you gotta go and leave town.

This just might be the next best song for seamen. But that's just me.

Song #4 Big in Japan

Superstition, heavy fiction
Earthquake on the mind
See this action any reaction
You...can...try the emotion

This song is about as random as a clown walking into a boardmeeting naked, where the boardmembers are lizards wearing cowboy hats. It just doesn't make sense.

Song #5 Jumping Up The Nations

Washington, Tokyo, Paris and Rome
Are the best for crazy dance (crazy dance)
London, Miami, L.A., Monaco
Are the best for groove, sexy cool

What's crazy dance? And what do Washington, Tokyo, Paris and Rome have in common? (aside from being capital cities of their respective countries) And what the hell is a groove sexy cool?

I give up.

The craziest part of this is that I didn't even take the time to actually listen to all songs. It's like I can get these kinds of lyrics on _any_ song in the albums of Intial D. Is there some sort of conspiracy going on? Are these lyrics made to sound like random babble intentionally?

I don't really know the answer to that. What I do know is that I have a CD in my car just for Initial D songs because hey, I'm not really in for the lyrics.

*sings* Na.. na.. na.. na... burn me with gasoline.. nah nah nah nah

Some Manny Pacquiao Wallpapers

Monday, November 20, 2006

Everybody wants to be inspired and motivated. That's why we have motivational posters. And who better model in an inspirational poster than the biggest iconic hero in our country today? I've created a couple of posters that you may want to place in your workplace or study area, just to remind you of the basic truths in life.

Anyway, enjoy.


Sunday, November 19, 2006

This hype for the MANNY "PAC MAN" PACQUIAO and ERIK "EL TERRIBLE" MORALES is plain crazy. More than just rivaly between just 2 fighters, the whole damn thing has turned into a serious national rivalry. How do I know? There's a masked wrestler waving the Mexican flag. Masked wrestlers in Mexico aren't the same type you see in WWE. These wrestlers never take off their masks until they die and they kill babies with their bare hands (or at least I expect them to). And now the biggest star wrestler stood in the ring. It has to be serious.

The premise of the whole rivalry has boiled down to "Kill a mexican and you're a made man." for the Filipinos and "Show them why corn is better than rice." for the Mexicans. I wonder if Spain, a former colonizer of both countries have anything to do with this...

Governador General: Watch 'em slaves dish it out, Padre.
Primo Frayle: I vote for the country that starves more.
Governador General: I got my money on the Filipinos too.

Notice how most of the boxers are always hispanic, black and asian? White people do not know how to box. Black people box better. Mexicans even better. Filipinos are just as good. The lower the economic status of the country, the better the boxers are. I'm not sure, but if there are any boxers from Uganda, I'm sure they'd pretty much take anything out in a round or two.

Anyway, the fight is about to start now in the bootleg channel fired up by the cable technicians. Manny's entrance song is his OWN song. You dont get that too often. I'm not really rooting for him, though it'd make things a lot easier if he won.

I'll just keep an eye on that mexican wrestler and the steel chair he's sitting on...


Manny won. Rice > Corn. More music records for Manny! Yay.


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