Currently Addicted To...

Friday, March 30, 2007

The beta test was whack. I got lost around this village called Baclaran today on my way to my in-game sister's graduation ceremony. Controls are still a bit shocking, as I find myself looking for something to click when talking to other players. WTF is this interface anyway? They should at least include "fingers" in the damn manual.

Also ingame sex. But it's only available for premium accounts.

So there.

The God Protocol

Of all the recent collaborative writing projects that I've been part of, I find the contents of The God Protocol most interesting. The story is the brainchild of master loresmith Karasawa Rui from Ragnaboards and I've collaborated with her in writing some 10 chapters or so. The God Protocol mainly deals about alchemy and the mad scientific race to create the perfect homunculus, an artificial human designed to rival a god.

Though the project is unfinished and only semi-active, I've already developed a special liking in the existing chapters for the intellectual flavouring of the dialogue and narratives. And while these dialogues and narratives are not really core to the story's plot points, they do raise interesting arguments if only for entertainment purposes.

Here are some of the quotes. Blue coloured lines belong to Karasawa Rui.


Science has been, for all its lengthy and obscure existence, an evolutionary path that man has taken in his unending quest of improvement. Long since abandoning the original goal of survival, evolution is leading him towards a completely new destination - the attainment of perfection, the attainment of Divinity.


My father once told me - and he was a man of very few words - that Science, by all rights, should be considered a perversion of itself unless it has, as its ultimate goal, the betterment of humanity. That the most radical, most unethical, most immoral of experiments should be allowed and not be judged at face value, so long as they were performed with the interests of humanity in mind. No boundary should exist to impede progress, no law to impede evolution - for such an act would be completely illogical, even heretical, to the human instinct of transcendence.


Perhaps the ultimate purpose of fate, if there is such a thing, is to make life as entertaining as possible to the All Father’s all-seeing eye. Of all the Houses that I could have worked with in that project, it just had to be that daughter of Tesla. A common riffraff is what I saw that day. It took a very long time for that to change, if for anything significant at all.


The world needs to realize that relying on something that we were never meant to utilize would mean being irrevocably crippled as a whole if it somehow disappeared. The world needs to realize that it needs something real, something concrete to rely on.

The world needs to realize that magic is only a crutch it has no business leaning on.


Because in a world where science is a blood sport filled with athletes, super athletes, coveted prizes, and records set for eternity, it's not who you are but what you entirely accomplish with your life that defines your existence.


I've always likened - mentally AND physiologically - debating with Valeria to a checkers match being played by two very sore losers, the Edison protege and I as the aforementioned sore losers, of course. Imagine two competitors, ridiculously even-matched on a game based completely on even grounds and level playing fields. There would be no clear victor - every match would either end in a draw, a stalemate, or overtime. A classic case of MAD - Mutually Assured Destruction - unless either side does something against the rules, something so underhanded and immature and unfair that it disrupts the playing field completely.

In checker terms, it would be tantamount to either me or Valeria violently and suddenly upsetting the game board itself, sending a pretty shower of red and black chips all around.

In experimentation terms, it's Valeria pulling rank just to get what she wants.

Pity. I expected no less of her.


Science in its very essence is anti-intellectual. It does not encourage man to think. The true nature of science encourages man to be empirical - to believe only what can be seen, measured, proven by the senses. Philosophy on the other hand, strives for usage of rationality to explain and reveal the possibilities with mental postulation. Philosophy is the eyes that visualize and science is the feet that bring one closer to what he sees.

To achieve great things in life, one must be more than just a scientist; one also has to be the perfect philosopher.


It is said that man's method of walking is a series of calculated falls - a balancing act of one instinctive mistake counteracting another. Science can be likened to that phenomenon. Science, like walking, is an art of channeling serendipity from the countless failures that serve as its foundation. It is an art of sacrifice.


The latest copy of the story can be found in Ragnaboards.

Random Static

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Damn, I should've been hired by Bazooka Joe to do those tiny comic strips that almost always makes no sense. Anyway, as said in the title, free extra insider joke for people in the know. Double D! Asan na yung banner ko?? J/K

The Ones Killed By Piracy And Time

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

For those of you who are too young to remember (and probably have never been to the province), once upon a time, we didn't have those fancy printed movie posters to tell us what was showing in the local cinemas. We had huge canvases of handpainted movie posters that ranged from artistic to picasso-on-crack in terms of artistic accuracy. It was the fanart of its time, except the guys who got commissioned to do the paintings weren't really fans.

There are very few of these billboards/posters now, mainly because of cheapening costs of large-scale prints and partly because of the death of our local movie industry from piracy. Nowadays, there are so few of these pieces, I had to borrow off from another country using the same practice as ours to show you examples. Apparently, they also used to do this in Russia, and these colorful canvases are now being sold as art pieces for hundreds of dollars.

Good ones are works of art. The bad ones are just pure comedy. It's win-win publicity.

Here are some examples.

Man in black with bloated ass and robotic gun arm, part 2.

Terminator 3, subtitled "Zorro Has A Drill But No Hat",
back to back with The Fast And the Furious 3
(and the missing steering wheel)

X-Men's Sabertooth is the prince of Troy in Troy.

50 First Dates, Directors Cut.
(featuring: Lucy with more extensive brain damage
and Puerto Rican Adam Sandler)

Matrix 3. This classic work of art Neo with what appears to be
beer-wasted human torch and an appendage
shaped like a member of the russian mafia holding a gun.

See what I mean? Priceless.
Special thanks to for the images.

Still More Quotes

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Just the routine periodical digest of quotes, status messages, and one-liners I've made for the status message of this blog and my yahoo messenger. Again, all of these are originals and none of these were made to be taken seriously. If in case you find a quote appealing enough to be copied, LOL.

I used to think Celeron was an autobot who can transform into a vegetable.

Every decision is a blind corner. We should learn to listen to others who can see what we're getting into.

And then you realize that the true power of love is not in how much it can change you, but in how much you can change somebody you'd think you've absolutely no power over.

Where there's a will, trite parody ensues.

I'm so manly, when i cry man tears, semen comes out.

There are three ways to get something done: Do it yourself, forbid your children to do it, tell an engineer it's possible. (adapted)

The true tragedy of the sought-after bridge is that nobody ever really comes for it , but for what's beyond it.

Childhood dreams fade the moment you learn you cant save everybody everytime

If you can't take the heat, stay out of the burning house.

A scarred heart bruises less.

No war is every won without somebody deciding to lose

If pirates are producing the pirated, I should belong to the exrates.

If less is more, how much "more or less"?

Having my quotes quoted makes me the father of a kid right after he gets adopted.

Wait, we're celebrating Chinese New Year Even when we're not Chinese and it's not New Year?

Nobody calls Christmas "Pagans-who-dont-get-gifts-from-men-in-red Awareness Day". Stop calling Valentine's "Single Awareness Day" Losers need not be reminded of their sucky states. We have Mtv for that purpose.

If ever vegetables rule the world, I can safely say "I never willingly ate your kind"

If ever the world will be ruled by vegetables I'll bet the Onions will be leading opposition

Would You Like Some Whine With That?

Monday, March 26, 2007

The other day I was reading a particular entry from Dilbert Comic artist Scott Adams's blog about customers who enjoy complaining. He said that some people complain not to get the solution to their problems but just to complain, period, like it's their own sick form of fun.

I thought to myself: it's possible, but I never really thought I'd see somebody like that first hand. Boy, was I speaking too soon, or what? Yesterday I witnessed first-hand the proverbial customer-from-hell.

At first I thought it was just a fluke, like she was some sort of agrieved customer who just had a bad day. We were eating breakfast by the main dining hall of the diving resort while she was ranting to the waiters about the horrors of food poisoning. Or, to be more specific, potenial food poisoning. She was complaining about why the fruits were being left out in the open without refrigeration and started mentioning the possibility of it being infected by something like an airborne african flying sickness virus or something. She was citing sources from stuff I only hear in Discovery Channel (or at least what I think I hear from that channel. She wasn't exactly the credible kind)

The argument sounded stupid, like "In theory I can delete the internet if I start with my own PC" kind of stupid. But I let it go since it was 8 in the morning and she was probably just left out in the sun an hour too long.

Later that day we found her complaining just outside the dormitories that she wasn't able to get the names of the shuttle drivers who drove their group to the resort. After she got the names, she complained that the shuttles were not being warmed up for their usage and there's a chance the shuttles might break down.

The following morning she was complaining about not being able to get a good view from her table and insisted having her breakfast by the windows of the main hall. After eating, she complained about not having her bags packed yet by somebody I dont know anymore.

Note that I have no interests in following her. Or finding out what she has to rant about. It's just that every freaking time we come across her, she was complaining about something. I swear, there was no instance during my stay in the resort that I saw her mouth moving WITHOUT a word of complaint coming out of it. Her complaints are basically like radiation. When you're near her, you just take it all in, whether or not you want to, and it's always bad for you.

Why, she's basically what I imagine of a real-life political blogger.

But why was she doing the whine-a-thon?

I was thinking, was she the owner of the resort? Everybody called her ma'am. But then again, she was saying she wanted to see the view for a change since it's her last day that day so I'm thinking anybody who owns the resort would be tired of the view by now.

Then maybe, I thought, she's just rich. Again, I realize that she's staying in the single-room dorms and not the cottages where the classy folks are staying.

After a couple of days staying in the same resort as her, I've come to the undeniable conclusion that she's just a blabbering vagina. This woman finds entertainment/therapy in whining. Whintertainment, so to speak. Anybody who comes close to her gets this sour-faced reaction usually associated with anal probe sessions.

I was actually wishing for her to find something to whine about me so I can suckerpunch her between her eyes. Since I'm already expecting her to whine about it and she's already currently whining, nothing much will change, but I'll feel that I'd have returned the inconvenience she's dealing to everybody around her at least to a degree.

I'm thinking she'd have other whines I wasn't around to suffer from it. They'd probalby sound like these:

- The sea is too salty.

- These fish, why aren't they talking as advertised by Finding Nemo?

- Make the water so I can breath underneath without these awkward snorkels.

- Can you take the teeth off these sharks? They can be dangerous.

- What are you doing with that hammer? That's dangerous too. Wait. What are you going to do with that? Waaaah *thud thud thud* my skull! *thud thud thud* aaagh I'm bleeding like a crushed grape *thud thud thud*

Well, yeah. Seems my imagination is working fine.

It's a resort. Not a customer support center.

A Day In The Life Of

Thursday, March 22, 2007

It's amazing how sometimes you just suddenly remember things that you've forgotten already. A few minutes ago, after reading this line in my chat window:

(16:55:54) Jet: salamat po ^^

I suddenly remembered how it was for me everyday as a highschool kid. I remember being dropped off every morning by the school service near ParaƱaque wetmarket by the schoolbus driver who insists Jai Alai can make him a millionaire

I remember checking for the latest issue of Funny Komiks. I remember stealing a peak at the morning tabloids at about the same time as that. Then I'd walk by the alley where flowers are sold and wonder if it's my turn to go offer flowers for the Virgin Mary in our classroom. Then I'd pass by the iron gates leading to the church. I remember seeing an old lady who always says "Maawa sa bulag po" holding up a delapidated valvoline cup with very few coins.

I'd put in a coin or two and hearing her say "Salamat po!" with sincere, glad eyes made me feel good. Sometimes she wasn't there. Sometimes it was her just as blind husband. Eitherway I gave what I could.

After that I'd drop by the adoration chapel and say a short, monotonous prayer - the same one I'd utter every night before I sleep:

Lord, forgive me for all the wrongs I've done, the wrongs I'm doing, and the wrong's that I'll be doing (note: probably in anticipation of the following morning's session of tabloid viewing). Lord sana po hindi ako maulila. Lord sana po hindi ako bumagsak sa Science. Lord sana po hindi na ako managinip ng masama.

I'd exit the adoration chapel and proceed inside the school where I'll be checking out what homework everybody's copying. I'd leech off paper from one of my friends or, if I can't, I'd defeatedly walk to the forever scowling Ester of the canteen's bookstore (don't ask) and actually buy paper worth five pesos.

I'd go copy whatever assignment and then proceed to talk to my friends about the episode of WWF Raw the night before. Morning bell rings. Morning over.

That was ten years ago.

I've long since stopped passing by the wet market, the flower shop, and the tabloid stand. (and no, I'm no longer excited by those things).

The schoolservice driver never became a millionaire. All he got for it was chump change and a divorce. Win-win? I don't think so.

What became of the blind old lady, I'll never really know. I hope for better tidings, but I'm not too good an optimist. Maybe she's still there. Maybe she'll still there but only in spirit. Salamat po!

I no longer pass by the adoration chapel. My prayers have shrunk siginificantly and became lower in frequency. Less requests, more thanks. Was it for the better? I'm not really sure. I'd save discussing religion for another day.

I no longer have assignments to copy. For what it's worth, I learned how to copy shit really really fast while trying to learn what I'm writing at the same time - sorta like Teevo, but more sinister.

I no longer use intermediate paper, or any paper other than bondpaper - the backs of photocopies or printouts. If possible, I avoid using my ugly handwriting (which, inconveniently, disabled me from forging my own excuse letters.)

Ester is still in the canteen, my younger peers tell me. She still has the scowl. A bad expression really is for eternity. I bet those barbecues they've been trying to sell us are still the same stock they're conning kids into buying now. Somebody should carbon date those things just to check out if they're dinosaur meat.

WWF ate WCW up and became WWE. Kane who was supposed to be a burn victim now show's his flawless skin on everybody. Pall Bearer is dead, Ric Flair is decaying, and Undertaker still looks young.

Me? I'm ten years older. I certainly have changed a lot since then. For better or worse, I'd rather not guess (but if my life depended on it, I'd go for worse).

And then I'd think, all these memories, why are they still around? They are neither important to what I do for a living nor significant enough to be worth remembering.

I realize, at the end of what you make of a day, you become what the day makes of you. And these little changes done to you by what you do, they pile up - like a compost pit of cause and effect. And in time, your personality blooms from this pit.

Also I realize what I just said won't make much sense for quite a while. Maybe when I read this entry again in ten years it will. Or maybe never, but I won't know until I read this again. Or maybe I'll never get to read this again - like if it disappears in a couple of years, because we never really know, right?

Then one day I'll see something that will make me remember again.

(16:55:54) Jet: salamat po ^^

A day in the life of.

I'll be going to our company outing starting tomorrow so I won't be able to post for a while. At the earliest, I'll be posting this coming Sunday.

Takdang aralin: Anong karanasan mula sa iyong kabataan ang alam mong hindi naman importante pero naaalala mo pa rin magpahanggang ngayon?

Alternative Fuels

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

We should start considering if these things can be turned into alternatives to fossil fuel because we're definitely not running out of these anytime soon:

- Texters who think theyre being stolen from by Globe when the company pulled out the unlimitext promo.

- Bloggers who keep on repeating Richard Gomez should not run because he has no credentials as though nobody's really stated the obvious before.

- Bloggers who think searching the net for random videos and articles and reposting it on their site is synonymous to writing.

- The massive amount of "awww", "asa" and "wa" words being generated by Filipino chatters/gamers/e-tards every minute.

- Chain messages.

- Inconsiderate cavemen who think chain messages are real and forward them to everybody else.

- Drivers who don't know the logic of the "passing lane".

- People who think "assassin" is the same occupation as "hitman". (protip: theyre not)

- Ever increasing flashes of the obvious by political thinkers online.

- Stupid people in general. ( Though I wouldn't encourage openly burning them. That's my air they'll be contaminating.)

- Programs I have to code.

Speaking of which, I best be getting back to work.

Yeah, yeah, I'll be writing something with more content tomorrow or on Friday or whenever I get free time.

Also, a completely unrelated public service reminder:


Frank Miller's 300 Quotes

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Well not really quotes. More like quotes that never really made it through the final cut. Here are some scenes that you never got to see in the epic movie that is 300. (warning: spoilers)

Frank Miller's 300 Outtakes:

Spartan King Leonidas: You wear the crimson of a Spartan...
Hunchback Spartan: My father says it highlights my curves.

Hunchback Spartan: Why?! Why? Can't I join you?!
Spartan King Leonidas: Dude, can't you see the title? It's 300, not 301.

Clueless Persian Messenger: Why are they all in bikini trunks?
Clueless Persian Messenger: Hmm. We're going to what looks like a pool to me.
Clueless Persian Messenger: Pool party!
Clueless Persian Messenger: But where's the water?
Clueless Persian Messenger: Doesn't matter, I'll just stand by the pool.
Clueless Persian Messenger: Aight, this is where it's happnin yo!
*Leonidas kick*
Clueless Persian Messenger: Aaaaah! Not funny guys! There's no water!

Persian Messenger: Choose your words well, Spartan King.
Spartan King Leonidas: *silence*
Spartan Queen: *silence*
Persian Messenger: Well?
Spartan King Leonidas: I'd like to buy a vowel please.

Spartan King Leonidas: Spartans! Enjoy your breakfast,
Spartan King Leonidas: for tonight we dine in Hell!
Stelios: So where's lunch?

*take 2*

Spartan King Leonidas: Spartans! Enjoy your breakfast,
Spartan King Leonidas: for tonight we dine in Hell!
Stelios: Can I order take out?

*take 3*

Spartan King Leonidas: Spartans! Enjoy your breakfast,
Spartan King Leonidas: for tonight we dine in Hell!
Stelios: With Sizz -
Spartan King Leonidas: God damnit Stelios, say one more witty remark and you'll
Spartan King Leonidas: be getting your dinner sooner than a 30 minute guarantee.

Spartan Queen: Spartan, come back with your shield. Or come back on it.
Spartan King Leonidas: Wait, that's like shield surfing right? Cowabunga, dude.

Spartan King Leonidas: Arcadian, what is your profession?
Arcadian: I play arcade, sir!

Spartan King Leonidas: You, other arcadian dude, what is your profession?
Arcadian: I'm a potter sir.
Spartan King Leonidas: Potter?
Arcadian: *puts on glasses and wand* Potter.

Persian emissary: The thousand nations of the Persian Empire descend upon you! Our arrows WILL BLOT OUT THE SUN!!!
Spartan: Haha. We should start considering inventing sunblock instead. Really.

Spartan King Leonidas: My queen. My wife. My love.
Arrows: *attack by the millions*
Spartan King Leonidas: Fuck. How do I explain to her the holes in my shirt?

Spartan King Leonidas: Spartans! What is your profession?
Spartans: Ahoo! Ahoo! Ahoo!
Spartan King Leonidas (to Daxos) : See old friend? I brought more soldiers than you did.
Daxos: You do realize that your men couldn't even answer properly. Do you?
Spartan King Leonidas: God, I hate you Daxos.

Daxos: *seeing tree of the dead* Have the Gods no mercy?
Spartan: Who could have done this?
Kid: They- they came from the blackness.
Spartan: Mr.T?

Xerxes: "The world will never know you existed at all!"
Spartan King Leonidas: Wait till you see the movie they'll make about this.

Xerxes: Dig the bling, yo.

(this post is intended for tomorrow but since I'll be very busy, I'm posting this now)

The Princess And The Garden

After months of nothingness I'm finally able to write another short story in the format of an apologue. The construction is pretty rough but I want to let the piece stay in its extempore form. While the setting is borrowed from Ragnarok Online, if you take away the word "Prontera" and replace it with some magical kingdom name, it's good as neutral already.

The Princess And The Garden by Redkinoko

Once there was a young princess who lived in an aging castle by the far end of the Pronteran countryside. The kingdom itself was not poor but because it was out of the way of major cities and far from any places of interest, few visitors ever came to the place.

Every morning, the young princess would go to the front balcony and look out at the single winding road leading to her castle. There, she would eagerly wait for visitors to come - but few ever do.

Just below the balcony was a wide expanse of grass garden - maintained by an old man and his son who was about at the princess's age. Everyday, after the gardener boy's tasks were completed, he would go outside the castle, into the forest and did not return until the sun set. The princess never really noticed this since she was always too busy waiting for vistors to come.

Then one day, she was surprised to see the boy call out to her from the garden one evening. "Princess, I've gathered these flowers for you," he proudly said while raising a wonderous bouquet of wildflowers never seen outside the dark forests. "They show my feelings for you and I would be delighted if you could accept them."

The princess was delighted at the sight of the flowers, but at the thought that a lowly gardener would come to woo her, she refrained from taking them from him. "I wait in this balcony for my prince to come, see," replied the princess. "I cannot accept these flowers for they do not come from the man of my dreams."

The boy smiled, gave a gentleman's bow, and left.

The following morning, the same pattern happened. The princess stayed by the balcony, the gardeners tilled the soil, and the boy disappeared into the forest for the rest of the day.

Nothing much was to ever change, it seemed to the princess as the days went by. That is, until one day, she noticed that some things were indeed changing. By the garden, a row of flowers had begun budding. It was a refreshing to her eyes to see something new growing out of the garden. Everyday, a new set of colours would grace the slowly developing garden. In time she started looking forward to seeing the slow transformation of her garden. She still kept her sight at the empty roads beyond, but at the same time, she found replacement happiness in watching the flowers multiply.

Months passed by and the garden began to blossom into a beautiful paradise. It was said to be more beautiful than that of the Royal garden in the Holy Capital of Prontera. By word of mouth, people began to learn of the garden of the castle and travelers from all over the land flocked to the castle to see the garden with their own eyes.

The princess was all too glad to see visitors finally coming in. She wanted to thank the yung gardener boy who probably helped out in making the place more popular but she could not find him.

A few years later, a prince from the neighboring kingdom came for a visit, and in a pleasant turn of events the princess fell in love with the prince. A wedding was immediately planned, followed by a lavish banquet.

This time, the princess could not let pass being wed without thanking the gardeners who made the garden such a wonderful place. She went to the house of the gardeners one night and was greeted by the old gardener.

The princess thanked the old man for the garden and offered to grant him anything he wished. The old man smiled and wished that she would hear out the garden's story. The princess, puzzled by the gardener's request, promtly agreed.

By the table, the man finally told the story of the boy who maintained the garden. It was said the the boy had fallen for the princess the moment he saw her sitting by the balcony. Everyday, after his work, he would go to the forest at the risk of his own life to forage for the rarest of flowers that he thought would please the princess.

After he got rejected, however, the young gardener did not change his dreams. Instead, the boy told his father, that if he could not fulfill his dream of ever being with the princess, he would instead fulfill hers. At great pain, the boy started gathering seeds of the rare flowers from the forest and studied how they could be grown from the garden.

If the garden becomes famous, the boy told his father, all the princes from the kingdoms will surely come. Slowly but surely, he made sure of this - though at the effort that he put into the task, his body was slowly worn away by the difficulties of going to the forest everyday.

As the garden began to blossom, the boy's health waned. Not long after that, he became terribly ill and had to leave the care of the garden to his father. Just before the boy died, his father asked as to why he went to that extent just to make the garden beautiful. The boy smiled and replied,

"This world is filled with dreams of people - many of which will never be realized. Sometimes, some dreams need to be lost for others to be fulfilled. I made a promise to myself that I will make the princess happy no matter what - at any cost. And since I found out that I could not make her happy with my dreams, the only thing left to do is to make her happy with hers - even if I know it would cause me to lose mine. I think that's what true love is, father. To be able to find real happiness in the joy of those we care for."

Upon hearing the old man's tale, the princess found only error in her ways and began to cry uncontrollably. She then started thinking of calling off the wedding to be held the following night.

The old gardener only smiled and patted the princess by the shoulders. "My son has given up his dreams so you could realize yours," he said with a warm tone, "if you would not want his life to be wasted, you shall realize yours and be a happily wed queen of this castle."

With that heard, the princess finally smiled and thanked the gardener. The wedding was held the following day with much fanfare by the garden that now had more flowers than any other in the world.

And of all the gifts that came that day, there was one particular endowment that the princess was ultimately thankful for - the garden itself -

A gift of selfless sacrifice and true love.

The End.

Silent Mode

Monday, March 19, 2007

So my mom, sisters, and I were talking about how it's sad in other countries and how the locals there never really smile and laugh much in public. I can't remember who but somebody mentioned the notion that they just might be able to express their feelings in other ways. So my mom asked how, to which I replied:

"Maybe they vibrate when they're happy. Silent mode."

Red's Law of Chronorelational Placemats

Sunday, March 18, 2007

The more complex the design of the placemat on your table, the longer it takes for you to get the food you ordered. Like if for example you see crayons being handed out to you in Burgoo, that's a bad sign. If your placemat has a "spot the difference" puzzle like Pizza Hut a couple of years ago, that's a bad sign.

If you see an intermediate sodoku puzzle printed on your placemat, walk away.

Just walk away.

It'd be so much faster waiting for a regime change than waiting for your food to get there. And you'll feel much better for it too. (i.e. you wont starve to death if you eat your food with Arroyo still in power)

Conversely, if you see your placemat is just plain white paper, you can assume that food will be delivered so fast, you won't have time even to order. The moment you plaec your order, the bill's being handed out to you already.

Or something like that.

Try Jatujak's in Mall of Asia for those blank placemats.

Pretty fast for a Thai resto.

Turkish Star Wars

Saturday, March 17, 2007

If you think Star Wars rocked, this video will make you orgasm so loudly, people will think you're conducting nuclear testing in front of your pc. It's the Turkish adaptation of Star Wars and it fucking rules. Our Pinoy Action movies won't hold a candle against the massive awesomeness of this film.

The video is said to be the final 10 minutes of the movie, but I think this is just a compendium of the good moments of the film, which is like every other 5 seconds of the entire 90 minute show. It is in fact loaded with more explosions than Iraq on a bad day and more action than Peter North in a convent (or if that sounds offensive to you, pretend that it's a fake convent with actor nuns). There's so much excitement in this film, there's not enough room for a plot.

Now I don't know much about Turkey but here are some things that I'd like to point out about the film:

- Luke Skywalker likes to jump. A LOT. And by A LOT, I mean he uses it to defeat everything from henchmen to bullets flying at him. Yes, apparently if you jump high enough, no bullets will ever be able to harm you. Also, he jumps likes like a pansy.

- Luke looks like an ugly Richard Gere + uniform of Shaider's Alexis + gloves of hell teacher Nube. And just to show this guy means business, he has two gloves. Screw lightsabers. This guy can pummel shit with his hands.

- Shaider kills one monster per episode. Luke kills 1 monster every 10 seconds. That's 1 monster less than Chuck Norris.'s general average.

- Leonidas is King of Spar ... err... the Imperial Forces. For some reason his mask looks more like Sauron's from Lord of The Rings. You're not in Sparta anymore, King. Luke will kick exploding boulders at you till you break down like a little girl, which we Turks fondly call "pussy", after which he'll do traditional pinoy action moves like you like you're some sort of paralyzed limp fuck.

- People from Turkey are afraid of shiny light. Also, they have a version of pot that makes yellow smoke. Lots of yellow smoke.

- I totally didn't understand the role of the XWings, but they ruled.

All in all, I'd give this six stars out of five. Who would have thought the best Star Wars installment wasn't even made by George Lucas?

Make The Rain Of Stupid Stop

Friday, March 16, 2007

If you're 18 and above, a resident of the NCR, and a proud registered voter, you've just been fucked in the ass in a two-man action gangrape by COMELEC and San Miguel Corporation. Inside that website is a list of ALL registered voters in Metro Manila with their complete information including birthdays AND home addresses.



Did I say epic? I mean biblical.

This is an outrage. I personally don't want to see my details being seen by strangers from the fucking internet. Last time I checked, I believe we still have this thing called right to PRIVACY.

I have never seen such brandishing of stupid from a government entity since the HKPD grievance group published their list of complaining citizens online last year - and that was accidental. This is like professional, corporate-grade stupid.

What the fuck does San Miguel Corporation have to do with anything elections anyway? We don't even want beer involved during the time when we cast our votes.



And if you happen to know anybody from the Comelec WebDesign Team who had the gall to display their unpatriotic faces on the website, give them two slaps for me - preferrably with a baseball bat - preferrably in the softspot at the back of the skull.

For reference here are the names of the champions of Need for SPED:



Don't have kids. Stop breathing our air. GTFO of our planet.

To all my friends who loyally visit this page, and to people who have just chanced upon this page by accident but still have the decency to do whats right, if you still have your black hat, now's the time to use your skills for the benefit of many many people. I won't directly say what I want to happen here, but we have to stop this one way or the other.

To the rest of the people, do me a little favor. Send an email to this person so he knows what crime they've done:

That is all. Good day.



Thanks to my friend Rumz, we're now open to the possibility of this being a setup. Here are some points to ponder:

- The page is too slipshod - San Miguel wont be caught dead associated with something so crappy.
- The webdesigner names are also Comelec officials.
- The registry for the domain shows the head guy as head admin. That rarely happens in any org since it's always safe to assume the guy on top has technophobia.

Of course this is all speculation, but the possibility is there. And that doesnt change the fact that the voter's list is REAL.

Special thanks to Chie and

And to think I was preparing something more melancholic for today's post.

A Review Of Weird Comic Book Crossovers.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Comic books are cool. And by theory, if we mix two cool things together, we get something cooler. Therefore, if you combine two good comic book icons in a story you'll get twice the amount of kickassery. Case in point? Extreme Sacrifice by Image comics, Infinitiy Gauntlet of Marvel, and Aliens Vs. Predator of Dark Horse. It's fool proof. Or is it? To answer that, I'd say "FUCK NO."

Here are some of the lesser popular (and rational) team-ups that have graced (read: defiled) the glorious stands of comicbookdom.

Robocop Vs. Terminator

Okay, Robocop is cool. At least, he was cool while I was growing up. On his own, he trully is a fighting machine fit to become a comic book hero. But when you try to pit him or even remotely mention his metallic ass against an obviously better robot, Robocop suddenly turns into "that oventoaster who could". As a general rule of crossovers, you do not place characters of different "cool" standards beside each other - pretty much like we don't mix Vina Morales with anybody who can even remotely sing better than the engine sound of a hard-starting volkswagen. Ditch this shit.

Archie and Ninja Turtles

I just don't know what happened. Is it because Jughead and Michaelangelo both love pizza? Is it because April O'Neal needed more female reinforncement? What in the Krang happened here? I couldn't fit Shredder in Riverdale if it was populated with tasteless foot soldiers for characters who do the same comedy-failing antics every other episode. Oh wait....

She-Hulk and Santa Claus

She-Hulk, summarized in one word, is forgettable. The only reason she's alive is the same sole reason Super Girl exists - a very small female comic reader demographic who just can't appreciate the male counterparts of these unpopular characters just because they have penises. Feminism blah blah blah. I got nothing against this crossover actually because as a general rule of successful crossovers, famous iconic characters have to be in them. She-Hulk fails in that aspect - among many others, like actually living up to The Incredible Hulk's kickassery. Also, the colour meshing of green and red reminds me of Bangladesh. Nothing good ever comes out of that country so you shouldn't expect much from this crossover either.

Godzilla Vs. Avengers

This is one of those failed "east meets west" kind of mix parties - like Jackie Chan's Rush Hour, except with more men in tights. And who better represent Asians than somebody with big eyes, big height, rough complexion, bad at math (proof: he's always against odds) and with a bad temperament? Godzilla sure fits the Asian stereotype. Not. Still, I'd pick Godzilla over Silver Samurai to come crash a western party for asians because damn, because that samurai guy is badly designed.

Superman with Nesquik Bunny

And then sometimes, you just see your favorite childhood superhero being carted off by some corporate brand icon for a "partner" after the creators of the comic book decide to just sellout for some quick money at the expense of the superheroes credibility. If ever this comicbook teaches you anything as a kid, it should be that money can buy anything - even superheroes. And that you should have a lot of this so-called money to go do whatever you want in life. Who says we never really learn anything from comics?

Popeye with Superman

Popeye is popeye and he's cool like that. Until you change the way he's drawn. Then he becomes just plain creepy - which is more like drunk-uncle-in-underwear-sleeping-on-the-couch kind of creepy. Allurism of performance enhancing drugs for sport and better living aside, Popeye does have better fitting into the superhero universe than Archie and friends, but I still can't get over the fact that he's actually made into something proportional - and realistically aged. If I wanted to read about grandpas, I'd flip the morning paper into the obituary section. Really.

Project: Mactan

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

I was reading the short graphic series 300 the other day when I thought, how come we never really romanticize our history? In case you're still not familiar with the movie/novel, 300 is a series of comic books made by Frank Miller about the battle of Thermopylae where some 3000 Greeks faced a Persian force ten times their size. It's romanticized in a sense that the novel was inspired by the movie but does not necessarily stick to the real events. If you're somewhat familiar with Asian literature, the Romance of The Three Kingdoms does the same thing with Chinese History. It's like Chinese History + Lore + Kickassery = Romanticized version.

So I'm thinking, we Filipinos don't have an accurate history to begin with. (case in point: The Kalantiao Code which was said to be at least 1500 years old is actually a less than 200 years old joke by some historians) So we might as well remake our history.

So here's how I think The Battle of Mactan should be told.

The story begins as told by Antonio Pigafetta, close friend of Ferdinand Magellan. He briefly narrates how they were commissioned to do voyage across the pacific to establish new routes to the spice islands.

Many months later, they later landed on Magellan's Port, Mazua where they met the friendly datus of Cebu. In the story, Magellan first meets Datu Pulahan in a feast held by Rajah Humabon.

They quickly turned into friends with both men having a natural passion for adventure. Things began to turn bad, however, when a woman comes into the picture.
Soon Magellan becomes enthralled by the very wife of Lapulapu, Reyna Salimsim.

Disgusted and at the same time honoring the bloodpact friendship, Lapulapu concedes the wife to Magellan and then prepares to go back to Mactan. He then makes a prophecy. Salimsim will order Magellan to attack Mactan. And that if he does so, he will die by Lapulapu's own hands.

Salimsim, now revealing herself a daughter of another tribe which Lapulapu vanquished, orders Magellan to assault Mactan. Against his will, Magellan then labels Mactan as an island of infidels and asks only his most loyal of men to follow him, knowing it will be a futile fight.

Lapulapu and Magellan finally meet at the shores of Mactan. Magellan apologizes for having to fight - but as a man of honour, he must fulfill his promises to Salimsim. Lapulapu smiles and agrees and they finally duel by the sunset that ended up with Magellan being cut down by Lapulapu as the datu sides with the setting sun.

Salimsim, once again in defeat, runs away from Cebu, never to be seen again.

The story closes with Magellan's body being given a burial at sea, with Lapulapu watching over the ceremony - far from being an enemy and more of a friend. Antonio Pigafetta finishes writing his tale and goes back to Spain with Lapu-Lapu's earring and Magellan's cross - mementos of a friendship lost in history.

All in all, the relative length of this would be fit for a short film a little less than an hour or a 4 issue comic book.

As a little trivia, the history books were wrong when they said Limasawa was the first place where a catholic mass was held in this country. It's specifically called "Limasawa" because its original name was "Di Mazua" a mix of Cebuano and Spanish meaning "Not where Magellan berthed." - because it was simply impossible to land a ship there - and without a ship, there'd be no sailors to hold a mass.

I say to be historically accurate we have to have an accurate history, but since we don't have that, we might as well make up a really interesting substitute.

p.s. This is a very rare instance that I'm revealing a storyline before I start writing the actual piece. Let us not act like animals by stealing each other's kills. If you're interested in adapting this story, with or without me, you should at least talk to me via YM first. My handle is "redkinoko". Thanks.

pps. I'm serious about this, in case anybody's wondering.

Love Lost, Friendship Regained.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

It's funny how they say once you've started falling for somebody it's impossible to become friends again. This, specially after endings you weren't expecting. But sometimes, I think the best friends that you can have are those you're positively sure you cannot end up with. Because when the air of pretension is gone, all that's left is true, honest friendship.

I'd like to think that of forlorn love. An opportunity to gain a good friend.

And yes, I don't want to discount the fact that two people who've had a past can fall in love with each other again. It's very much possible. But if that were to happen it would be under completely different circumstances. And it will be more like two strangers finding themselves in love rather than two old acquaintances rekindling a failed flame.

Because that's what change and time does. It gives people second chances they didn't think possible. So instead of sulking from a faild first chance, keep moving. you just might get a second one without even noticing it.

And then you two can go laugh again like nothing's ever happened.

That, in my opinion, is a very good feeling.

(Yesterday, I got to chat with somebody from college that I really liked for quite a while. Though I never really got to the point that I wanted to court her, there was still this feeling of awkwardness in me that made conversing with her tricky. At least until yesterday. And yes, I realize that she may be reading this at about the same time as you are, but I guess it's okay. It's not like I'm hiding facts ^__^ )

More Inflight Advisories

Sunday, March 11, 2007

I just came back from Hongkong this evening and I'm not in such a mood to go write something more comprehensive (i.e. retarded) than a simple public reminder. So without further ado, here are:

Some Guidelines When Travelling On A Plane

No matter how much fun it would seem to your brain underneath that thick skull, you do not need to headbang when listening to rock music - specially when you're listening on earphones and you're strapped to a seat with a traytable attached behind it.

A) It's not cool.
B) It's fucking retarded.

- If you have kids, do not order special "children's" meals for them, specially when you are unsure of of what children's meals are supposed to contain. And if ever you already did something that stupid, don't make it worse by indugling their finicky appetite by asking the stewardess for "something else"

Protip: A child who has teeth can basically eat anything a live adult can. Alcoholic beverages are not discouraged, and are in fact encouraged to prevent the dismal process of kids turning into pussies when they grow up.

- If you see that people behind you have not yet been served, do not try to be the little attention whore by asking for different sets of drinks every 2 minutes just because you can. Wait the fuck for your turn and if possible, go fuck yourself in the ear.

- Do not encourage your kids to try and do the former item. One idiot (i.e. you) is enough for many generations to come. If you don't have kids, get a vasectomy/tubal ligation/histerectomy/alloftheabove.

- Shaving is not encouraged outside the lavatories. Now I know why razors are banned on every flight - to prevent tasteless people from leaving body hair around the goddamn plane.

- If you happen to have a whiny bitch for a wife, be a courteous gentleman for the rest of the passengers and crew by giving her a dose of valium (or a 5-4-1 knockout punch). Any comments about how sucky service gets in the ECONOMY class of an airplane is not appreciated.

- Don't headbang. I can't begin to explain how much emphasis this step needs.

To Sum It All Up:

DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF ME (Seat 45H of Flight PR307)

That is all. Thank you and enjoy the flight.

Fun with Numbers

Friday, March 09, 2007

Here's something fun to do with the cellphone number of a friend/enemy (doesn't matter whether or not if he's for or against you because after he finds out, he'll probably too pissed at you to become anything less than your arch-enemy and potential murderer).

1. Ride a bus. Any bus can do but preferrably, buses running routes on any of the following:
- provinces
- EDSA or any busy route
- Saudi Arabia*

2. Get a pen and commit into mind the number of your friend.

3. Take three deep breaths and say to yourself "for the love of the game".

4. When nobody is looking, go write "WANTED GEY LUVER. TEXT ME AT: [friend's
number]" at the back of the seat in front of you. Make sure it's legible enough to be understood that whoever owns that number wants to have sex with whoever sends a message to that number. Remember to make your writing clear and solid - we want to convey an attitude of seriousness and, well, formality of asking for ass stuffing.

5. Get off the bus (as in disembark, you monkey) and pretend nothing ever happened.

6. Repeat steps 1-5 maybe 10-20 times. Don't get caught. Getting caught simply means you're the one who wants mansex. Also, the conductor will probably give you an LTRFB-regulated brand of asskicking.

*only if possible. airfare is not worth it.

What will happen is that your friend will now have a simcard that's more active with sexually loaded messages than 2-for-1 movies they show in stickyfloor cinemas that have titles like "Haliparot" and "Gising na Adan"

Best part of it is that he wouldn't really know the reason and start wondering why so many gay people suddenly want to become friends with him. For best effect, pretend you accidentally read his inbox and start laughing about the messages he forgets to delete (if you've written the number enough times, he shouldn't have enough time to erase them all at once)

If ever you feel sad and guilty about it, think about it this way. You're just helping your friend find his sexuality. If he's really gay (this happens, really) he'll probably enjoy the favor and you've been a good friend. If he's not and he's pissy about it - you tried to widen his circle of friends but it's not your fault he's being such a douch for not entertaining "friendly" requests. Win/win.

My barkada tried this on a friend/ex-friend once. By the third day he was reduced to a crying sap who thinks there's a syndicate of penises out to get him. In the end he had to change simcards just to make it stop. We told him about the joke and we had a good laugh or two about it. Actually we didn't. And he was never really included in the laughing sessions but we still laugh about it - but only when Mr. Congeniality's not around.

An alternative would be to post his number on those notoriously raunchy cable text chat and run the message "Wanted boy lover with free 350 load" along with his number. The poor guy wont know what hit him.

Actually he probably will.

But at least he won't know where it's coming from.

When Credibility Doesn't Count

Thursday, March 08, 2007

I don't get why some short story writers and poets from folios put their credentials after their works. I find it unnecessary. If ever I just get an aura of arrogance. I feel like I'm being forced to use the author's preexisting credentials to evaluate whatever I read.

It's similar to those annoying "From the creators of Titanic and Tarzan-X" taglines on movie posters and trailers, except for this case, the author isn't exactly as recognizable and most of the time these credentials that appear after pieces dont really say much.

Taken from a website I reviewed a couple of days ago:
What's funny is that the website I visited are filled with guys form the same university and literary group. And they're all "winners of various awards." It's like kindergarten all over again, everybody's a winner.

I really can't remember the last time an actual poet reached superstar status. Not in the last ten years, I'm sure. That should give you enough clue that people liking your poem automatically because of your credentials is about as realistic as people liking a movie because the 2nd Grip guy came from Berkley.

If a poem is shitty, a poem is shitty. We should stop letting bad work get away with it because somebody's been "'round the corner a lot longer than anyone can remember." Slap the author if he deserves it. It's for the best so he doesn't get any sense of positive reinforcement that what he's doing is right.

If a poem is really good, you don't have to place your name beside it for it to be recognized as good.

A good writer will stand beside his work and proudly claim it as his own.

An even better writer will stand behind it, and let his work do the talking.

Gumby and Not-so-friendly Friends

Wednesday, March 07, 2007


Gumby Sucks

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

I think I'm not alone when I say that Gumby is probably one of the laziest animated shows that I've seen on TV. Just look at him. He's green clay with a face drawn on him. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's not too far different from the original bar of clay that you'll be getting of you buy green clay from a bookstore.

I heard they once tried to make a "make-your-own-gumby" lookalike contest. Everybody won - including people who just bought the clay and didn't do anything to make it look different.

Come to think of it, every character in that show is lazy. Even the bad guys, called the Blockheads. They're characters with *gasp* block heads. And if that doesn't get lazy enough, the two blockheads are completely identical. A bunch of uninnovative assholes are running this show, I tell you.

And is it just me or does gumby look tad bit like a bad escher fusion of marijuana and whoever smokes marijuana? Bloodshot eyes, bright green colour, hallucinogenic animation - maaan, does Gumby suck or what?

Then I remember this show is from Britain, from the same wankers who take pride in their most creative culinary dish: fish and chips. Fish. And. Chips. But I guess if you're constantly being bombarded by boring shit like Thomas the Talking Train and Hugh Grant, you'd start thinking Gumby is totally rad.

Well not really, I'd probably think Gumby still sucks.

I normally have high tolerances for bad things, but this character is just unbelievably sucky.

Ultimate Speeches

Monday, March 05, 2007

Here is a video of the Ultimate Warrior and his amazing powers of oral persuasion. Well, something like that anyway.

It's amazing how I listened to this guy for years and not really realize that he's saying not one sensible thing (partly because I was seven when I first saw him and I didn't learn English until I was seventeen). Back then, his words were like the sound of powerhouse beefcake being slammed into another man's gonads, you know?

They kicked balls.

Because even if nobody understands whatever jumble this "freak of nature" is saying, everybody knew what he meant. He just meant "I kick your ass, one way or the other."

When I was a kid, I never knew what he said, but I knew he was strong, intense, and crazy and would beat you up. That's all I needed when I was little to like a wrestler.

So I guess this does prove one thing. It's quite possible to be babbling and still deliver your point, if ever there is one. Pretty much like politics, except with more muscles, and probably kickassery in the most literal sense.

It's from the crazy 80's. Even before the development of Goth and Emo, this guy is already all over the angst.

I look above to the gods!!!! and when you fall bellow the skeletons of the warriors powers the power of the warriors will become the 8th wonder of the world!!!!

Ultimate warrior is still ultimate.

Red Goes Trippin'

Sunday, March 04, 2007


No Sorry

Saturday, March 03, 2007

There's something I'd like to share to you about my family. I'm not sure how it works in other families, but in my home, nobody ever says sorry. Now, probably you'd say to yourself "Well, that sucks." I'd like to digress. Just because nobody ever says sorry doesn't mean there's never any forgiveness.

For some reason, we've chosen to adopt "forget" more than "forgive".

To illustrate an example, I sometimes get into bad terms with my mom or sister. After a bout of shouting, an invisible wall gets dropped between me and whoever I fought. We dont talk, we avoid each other, and the only reason we stay in a single room is because of TV, church, or dinner or whichever.

This could go on for days or weeks (but only if it's mindblowingly bad, like having a friend that looks like Zhang Ziyi and not intruducing me to her).

And then one day, I just wake up one morning like nothing happened, give her a greet and then she greets me back. Sometimes it's whoever I fought with who does the greeting but it doesnt really matter. The transition is so subtle, I sometimes start wondering whether or not the fight happened only in a dream.

The good part of this system is that no ego ever has to get hurt. To forgive, one must admit a mistake or acknowledge another is capable of making a mistake. Bad for the record. To forget, you simple have to forget, whichever side you are on, offending or offended. Nobody has to acknowledge anything.

Another benefit to this system is that it means you don't have to keep unsettled things for long. After something bad happens, no matter how it's resolved or unresolved, you just move on to the period of silence. You don't have to keep grudges or longing for closure.

So maybe you can just say I live in a family with terrible short-term memory.

But I think that's one thing I'm glad I'm suffering from.

Wait. What was I talking about again?

(If any of my sisters get to read this, and eventually they probably will, I'll just randomly say screw it, im still not talking to you! J/K)

God's Company

Thursday, March 01, 2007

No, I won't be talking about anything religious here. Maybe somewhat inspiring, but it depends on how fervent you are when it comes to your beliefs at work. Actually while I'm typing this, I'm waiting for a program to load and yes, this post maybe somewhat related to how I feel right now.

Anyway, in case you're still not working, let me give you a briefer. Normal, non-shifting office work usually starts around 8-10 in the morning, depending on your company policy and usually ends after 9 hours including lunch. So technically, you should be out anytime between 5-7 depending on what time you came in.


That's basically saying "theoretically I can kiss my elbows because it's mine."

The 8 hour daily work is more of an ideal than an actual statistic. This is true specially for project-driven work like engineering work, IT work, publishing work and civil works.

There's this necessary evil called overtime that gets in the way. I say it's necessary because sometimes you just have to catch up with the slipping schedule.


Sometimes, the excess time tends to sound so regular the following eccentricities start developing around the office:

- After leaving at 7 in the evening even if the time in is 830, your officemates go "wow, leaving early?"

- And after leaving at that time, you blush a little. Because you yourself think it's early.

- And for some reason you dont even realize that youre arleady thinking leaving ON time is actually a sign of being a bad employee.

True story.

So anyway, there's this book by Scott Adams called Dilbert Pricinciple. In it, he describes a perfect company standard called OA5. The framework's premise is simple. It's based on two things:

- Nobody wants to work. If people did love work, they wouldn't be doing it for money.
- The less time you are in an office, the more happier you get.

So that's why the framework is called OA5. Out At 5 (in the afternoon, preferrably) states that employees coming out exactly 9 hours after they come in, is the perfect setting for happy employees.

By perfect I mean, it doesnt exist in this world.

But this evening, I was working in a software development company as an exchange developer when I realized there are such companies. The office opened at around 10 and then when the clock hit 7, all people in the office stood up, greeted each other goodbye, and promptly left.

The office was closed 15 minutes later.

Not even in sappy romantic movies starring Sandra Bullock have I seen such a perfect ending.

I think I cried a tear or twenty.

God must love that company. They know how to rest on the seventh day hour.

Which Online Quiz Type Are You?

Remember my ranting about how those question and answer things are stupid, pretentious, and attention-whore material? Well there's one other thing online that can beat that.

Online quizzes.

Online quizzes are like forwarded question and answer things, except lazier, because everything comes as multiple choice. Instead of sparing a few synaptic impluse fluid transfer cascades to answer the questions, the user is now just clicking away the answer of his/her/its choice.

And it seems, there's just a quiz for just about anything, from "Which Saint is best for you?" to "Which used condom flavour are you?" As if that's not bad enough, these things seem to clutter every single braindead blog I'm unlucky enough to come across in this internet.

Maybe someday a quiz will be made that will give me something like this. For the sake of being irate, I'll even answer it myself. I want the quiz result to look somewhat like this:

Which Online Quiz Type Are You?

You are the stupid random quiz that has absolutely no use in this world other than becoming filler for stupid drool-gargling internet users who have nothign better to put in their blogs due to the lack of brain activity. Your results are forced and totally unrelated to the the questions that have been asked and they only reason why you have more appeal than a week-old cabbage is that you have cute pictures of some trademarked character that was probably stolen from some other website. The questions that you ask dumb down whoever answers it, and requires no more than a pulse to analyze and circumvent. You are pointless, stupid, and a waste of time but fret not, seek solace in the thought that 90% of the internet population are keyboard-chewing retards who can't see you for your real value. Now go choke on your mouse.


Fuck internet online quizzes. It gives stupid people more reason to clutter the goddamn intarweb.

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