Pedicabs = Road Cancer

Monday, December 29, 2008

If in case you're the type of person who never really bothers to look out your car's window while you and your manong driver whizzes past the various roads that you take to and from your favorite gimik place, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. But since it's christmas, I would be nice enough to tell you that this is what we call a pedicab/sidecar/depadyak:

Exhibit A: If you don't know what this is and you're a Filipino, go kill yourself.

And next to overbearing asshole drivers, these are the next worst thing on the road right now (not considering Bayani Fernando's amazingly viral suck-my-cock posters that appear as far as Tagaytay).


Don't get me wrong, I do think pedicabs have uses. For those times that you need to carry very heavy things to and from places where there are no buses or jeeps passing by, and it's too impractical to get a taxi, pedicabs are quite useful.

Granted, these things have no carbon footprints, and are probably the only things capable of entering moderately flooded areas during the rainy seasons.

Yes, they have uses but damn if they're not causing just as much trouble.

1. Traveling inside a pedicab on a national road is about as safe as having freewheeling unprotected sex in Quezon Ave. Have you ever seen a road accident involving a car and a pedicab with everybody walking away unharmed? Me neither. These things have no reflectors for night travel, no safety braces, no nothing.

2. Pedicabs don't respect lanes, direction of traffic, stoplights, sidewalks and rules of the road in general. They're basically like unruly pedestrians with heavy rusty metal tacked onto them. I can't recall how many times I almost got run over by a pedicab on a one-way street because it was going against the traffic, and I can't begin to count how many times I almost crashed into one while driving because it tried to create lane # 2.5 on the road. Bad bit here is the rule of accidents in this country is that whoever has a smaller vehicle and bigger damage is always the victim - even if the goddamn pedicab dove in front of you with a signboard that basically says "KILL ME PLS"

3. Pedicab queues are strategically placed in narrow areas, blind street corners, and traffic-prone places, ensuring you'd have a dandy fine time looking at how they're so nicely positioned while you wait in the traffic jam that they're causing. Do we really need so many of them? It's like for every one person who needs a pedicab, there's 15 waiting for a ride. Which takes me to point #4.

4. People get lazy, nuff sed.

Once upon a time, these things weren't allowed on national roads. Like here in Manila, a few years back, Mayor Atienza forced them to stay where they're not as likely to end up as road fodder.

Oh what I'd do to go back to those good ol' days.

It's 4:30AM

I can't sleep, so I'll leave this doodoo on my blog.

So much for today.

Post Christmas Roundup

Sunday, December 28, 2008

In case you people have been wondering why I'm whoring this blog the way I used to, I went on a persocom/internet rehab program that my younger sister started. I spent the past few days in Cavite where the closest thing I have to a computer is a Wii that has about 5 games in it.

As for stories, I can't really give you much since I was too busy soaking up in nostalgia to bother myself in making mental notes. I did have one quote noted however, and it says:

"No next-gen computer console can top the adrenaline rush of being chased by a rabid dog while riding your bike."

Red Ring of Death? Try Rabies.


So anyway, we had our Aguinaldo-giving again this year, the same way last year except this year I sponsored half of the budget. This year, we used the same methodologies again as last year. My mom gives out stubs with numbers on one side of the house and I give out the corresponding 20 peso bills in exchange for stubs on the other side of the house. My mom is responsible for stamping people so they don't do repeats and I'm responsible for controlling the released tickets.

Since people have this tendency to swamp people who give out the money, the dual line process gives me the reason to say "I only give money to the people with stubs" and if my mom gets badgered about money, she can always say "I only give out stubs"

The stubs are numbered also, so people won't be able to cut lines when receiving the actual numbers. Of course, Filipinos being the ingenious fuckers that they are, still manage to find ways to try and violate/rape the system.

We gave out about 400 20-peso bills and during that time, the following methods of trying to cheat were noticed:

- Classic line cutting. Since the stubs were numbered, I always find myself amused to see the number jump from 16 to 97. That's like 81 people skipped.

- People who reason out lost stubs. Now, while it's possible to lose your stub, the line where my mom distributes the stubs is about 10 meteres away from me. If you lose your stub the 30 something steps you did on your way to my side of the house then maybe you shouldnt really be holding a 20 peso bill.

- People who say they're too old to get stubs. I don't know about you, but the last time I checked, aguinaldos ARE for kids. While we dont really discriminate the old from the young during these sessions, push comes to shove, maybe the old people really shouldnt fall in any of the two lines.

- Pickpockets. Since I distribute while standing, I can't recall how many times I felt a small hand reach into the pockets of my shorts. Lucky for me, I was holding all the money and stubs in my hands. I swear, if it weren't Christmas, I'd have smashed whoever owned those hands with my elbow.

- The last case, I found really amazing. We opened our gates to distribute for a very short time and until that time, nobody really knew how we were going to go about it. The stub is made up of a cutout piece of an old Mercury Drug calendar, with a number written on it and a scribble, which is actually my mother's signature.
During the latter parts of the aguinaldo-giving I saw COUNTERFEIT stubs, manufactured in almost less than an hour. I wish I was shitting you but I'm not. Calendar cutouts from other calendars, ones that have scribbles but arent my mother's signature on it. I had to drive these people away as fast as I could before I decide to go anti-piracy on those assholes.

Talk about Christmas surprises.

All and all, it was tiring but fun. We learned many things this year so next year we'll probably be working with the NBI and will be employing biometrics and online preregistrations instead.

Even if it's late,

A very merry Christmas to each and every one of you.

10 Reasons Why Twilight ABS-CBN Is Cool

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

So it seems that ABS-CBN is planning to launch a TV Series officially based on the Twilight books by Stephanie Meyer. While seemingly a hoax most retards in this country fell for, I'll indulge and throw my centavos in and give everybody 10 reasons why Twilight can be done by ABS-CBN properly.


10. From the looks of it, massive amounts of drugs were involved in making the Twilight movie, something that should be right up the alley of actors of our country who kept on protesting against mandatory drug testing a few years back.

9. The Twilight Movie had shitty 70s era special effects. The people who made Kabayo Kids and Kapitan Barbel (the original movie) a spectacular hit would be able to replicate those things down to the last draw-shit-on-the-film lightning effect.

8. The leading actor has unexplainable bouts of catatonia. Sounds like a job for Jorros Gamboa
whose most glorious and moving moments on screen are those where he didn't have to move at all (or show up for that matter).

7. A vampire movie where vampires don't like to suck blood and instead love playing baseball? That's at about the same level of stupidity as a sentient, killer Christmas Tree. Oh yeah, you remember that shit now, don't you? If we can make that work in Shake Rattle and Roll, this should be a walk in the park for our amazingly creative writers.

6. The lead actress gets kidnapped by the bad dude and is brought to an abandoned place where the lead man needs to follow the bad dude and thrash the place without any policemen arriving until the last part of the movie? I'm starting to think THEY'RE the ones ripping us off.

5. Speaking of lead actresses, we have a girl who's pasty as hell and is still attractive on the standards of most people on the film. It'd be so much more understandable here in the Philippines where Colonial mentality says "the whiter the better".

4. Instead of having to reason out that it's always cloudy here, we can always just say that Vampires like to stay in Manila because people who wear glitters on their skin around here aren't looked at with surprise. We just assume they're being proud of their homosexuality and get on with our lives.

3. We have lots of indians who sell cars and other sorts of things too. A different kind of indian, but indian nonetheless.

2. Harry Potter wasn't available.

1. The book wasn't good anyway and you fucking know it. You can't ruin garbage by turning it into shit.


Monday, December 22, 2008

I was thinking last night why guys never get debuts. And then I thought, at the age of 18, it was simply impossible to get 18 of guys to hold candles for you. You can't make them go teary eyed saying "You're my best buddy ever. I love you Stevie. I even have a song prepared for you..."

That ain't right.

The only scenario where I think guys will be willing to hold candles is if they're standing around a casket and I'm inside. And only if there are no cameras around.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. If you're a guy and not exactly the freshest vegetable in the cart, can you think of how you're going to ask 18 women to give you 18 roses and dance with you on your party? And no, there can't be any money involved.

Otherwise it'll be a stag party instead.

Or a college overnight group study.

But I digress.

Eighteen. Eighteen is a good age though. Everything becomes legal after turning eighteen. Driving, alcohol, voting - mostly dangerous things that will either endanger your your dad's car, your liver, or Democracy, depending on how you go about it.

China and Piracy

Sunday, December 21, 2008

So China is now fighting piracy in Somalia. If I were one of the Somalian pirates, I'd be pretty fucking pissed, because everybody knows, if there's one country that's a bigger pirate than anybody else in this world, it's China. Talk about shit telling vomit it stinks.

Chemical Manila 7

Friday, December 19, 2008

"We really didn't know what was happening, not until it was too late," one soldier said to me as I stood at the overlook, staring at the hypnotic dancing of the distant flames. I nodded. I did not want to take my eyes of the flames. I felt if I stopped, I'd eventually have to face the reality what I was hearing.

I heard him walk towards my side, his boots thudding on the wooden platform I was standing on. "You lost many friends today kid," he said in a consoling manner, "but everybody here's lost somebody dear to them today too."

I didn't quite understand what he said but I looked around and saw everybody's faces at different a light. It was true, they all had rigid facial expressions, but the eyes of everybody around me had a certain tinge of sadness accentuated by the glow of the road lighting. There was well-hidden grief in their faces, even that of the foreigner lady.

After a few minutes, one of the soldiers motioned that we should press on. The group started walking on the road again in pairs. The soldier who talked to me stayed by my side, and I found some comfort in that. He introduced himself as Mario, a private from a regiment of the national army stationed in Mt. Makiling whose main role is protecting the forest from poachers, loggers, and the occassional escaped criminal.

At least, that how things were before this day.

There was still a long ways to go to the top, and I felt the need to start figuring out what was happening. The sooner I knew what was going on, the better. Half-hesitant, I asked him to tell me what had happened, and promised myself I'd try my best to let it all sink in, no matter how unbelievable it would sound.

Unbelievable would appear to be quite an understatement.

Mario told me how the situation had unfolded while we were in the forest.

It started that morning, when everybody woke up to see even the most polluted of waters of Laguna became sparkling clean. People rejoiced and called it a miracle.

Several hours later, people living near the waterways who tried to drink the water began to die one by one. People started running away from the water sources while panic and hysteria spread all over the towns. The local police force tried to contain the population but they were too many, too late. Various military units were deployed along the towns, along those from Mario's regiment.

Soon, the households far from the waterways started reporting people dying after drinking normal water from the faucets. The sick people were sent to the hospitals that soon overflowed with the dying, the grieving, and the dead.

The dead, however, did not stay dead long, as Mario grimly narrated.

A person who died from drinking the supposedly "miracle" water died a clinical death, but would later wake up, ravenous. People who self-resurrected appeared with animal-like behaviour, similar to patients suffering from late-stage Rabies.

Victims of "the miracle" had bloodlust, and wanted to eat any living creature it would set its eyes on, even fellow human beings. Those who were wounded by the victim had the infection spread to them as well, with the infection taking effect much faster than when affected by just the water. Soon enough, everybody was infected, and the refusal of people to accept what was happening led to one kin infecting another until very little could be done to prevent the spread of the infection.

The army eventually had to pull out of the towns. Those who could not were infected themselves. Mario's regiment was one of the lucky few who were able to move out in time.

I felt my knees become weaker and weaker as I listened to Mario's tale. His eyes were distracted, twitching left and right as though he were reliving what he saw. The other soldiers remained silent, listening just as intently as me.

The whole idea of finding oneself in the middle of a holocaust of such proportions is simply unimaginable that anybody would find it easy to accept that it was all a dream. That wasn't my case, however. I remembered how my classmates had chased me, and how Mr. Santos had killed off the soldiers from earlier. I felt nausesated once again, but only for a while.

After a few more bends, we arrived at a clearing on the road closed off with steel mesh fences as tall as two men, reinforced with sandbags at the bottom and barbed wiring on top. We went towards one area where there was a small heavy-looking paddock door. Several towers behind the fence illuminated the entrance with floodlights and there were at least ten men armed with guns watching our every move. A doctor stood close to the entrance, jotting down notes while glancing at us every now and then.

As I entered the gate, I saw a domed structure looming a few hundred meters behind a row of trees. "Welcome to our temporary base," Mario said while patting me in the back.

There were rows of army lorries parked just beyond the gate. I got to wonder why they had not used those to pick us up instead, but kept the thought for some other time. We headed for an army tent just a few meters across the gate where doctors examined me and Toffee, who looked like she was much better now than a few moments ago.

We were ordered to sit down on a table where they gave us bread, cheese, and bottled water. People looked happy everytime they watched us, and though I did not understand why, it soon became apparent that there were no other children in the base but us. At the moment, I didn't care.

I was just happy to be able to finally eat again.

Forum Arson 101

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Works like magic, everytime.

10 Signs Your Company Might Be Tanking

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The financial crisis is right at our doorsteps people, doing whatever it is that bad people do on office doorsteps (take a shit, etc). For all we know, it's bringing in the dreaded "kabuhayang pangkalye" package in exchange for our jobs. Here's a little checklist to know if your company is in danger of being flushed down the financial toilet.

1. A new memo arrived requiring you to reuse staplewires from old documents.

2. The old documents where the staplewires are coming from now serve as substitute for the previously rationed tissue paper rolls.

3. You have a "Pasaload available here" sign in front of your office, and it's managed by the finance department.

4. Overseas deployments now involve you having to ride out of the country on a boat filled with fishermen who routinely "accidentally get lost".

5. You request for a workstation upgrade and all you get for it are flame stickers that are supposed to make your PC look extra fast.

6. Company talks now involve lengthy prayers dedicated to Our Mother of Perpetual Help.

7. And the guy leading the prayer isn't even Catholic.

8. Your company outing takes you to an unmarked plantation where you'll be doing "team spirit reinforcing activities" like cutting sugar cane stalks and planting rice under the blazing sun.

9. Your new mission/vision statement has the word "surviving".

10. Your water cooler suspiciously no longer runs out of water, and has a newly installed funny looking steel pipe that leads to the plumbing of your pantry's faucet.

Quickie Notice

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Toyz Cafe, Open Mic ulit mamaya! I'll do 5 minutes of standup again for those who didn't get to throw rotten vegetables at me last time. If you're going to attend packing heat, please avoid using any of the following: any eggplants over a kilo in weight, any variant of chili, tomatoes (they're not vegetables). Please remove the veggies from the crate before throwing, someone could get hurt.

Aeolia Schenberg's Plan - A Gundam 00 Primer

Okay, so Gundam 00 S2 EP12 subbed is just around the corner, and we might as well take the time to do a bit of review here regarding the central focus of the series: Aeolia Schenberg's Plan.

this guy is fucking with you.

Everybody keeping up to date with the series knows that Aeolia's plan has something to do with eradicating conflict to promote long last peace. That's the part of the plan WE know.

I think it goes deeper than just that.

Starting form the first episode this season, we were introduced one by one to a group of individuals called "innovators", a bunch of genetically engineered humans who both look feminine and masculine at the same time due to their androgynous nature.

Last season, we had Tieria, a gundam pilot who looked really fagged up enough by normal standards. Fans of the series who are used to seeing sexually distinctive women in Gundam suddenly had mixed emotions about Tieria, bringing up the dilemma "If you imagine that character as a girl, but is by canon a guy, and you start having fantasies about him/her, does that make you gay?"

If you find this picture sexy, you might be a potential cocksucker.

And then came Regene, who looks like a Tieria, but is legally female. At first look, it seemed that the Sunrise, the series maker finally indulged on the now-turning-bicurious fans of Tieria and gave them a Tieria who is actually a woman. A Tieria with a distinctly feminine voice. No more ambiguity. No more questioning your own sexuality. Nice.

Or is it?

Episode 8 comes along and just shuffles the cards again. We see Tieria with a feminine voice, a dress, and breasts. Meanwhile, Regene is wearing a tuxedo in a sudden reversal of roles. I felt the surge of mixed emotions filling the messageboards and blogs that weekend. People simply didn't know how to react at what they're seeing.

Yes, sir. I have a penis under this dress.

Every week, Gundam00 shuffles repeatedly across the fine line between "cute" and "gay", gradually erasing it in the process, and people who happen to be watching the show for anything else are slowly, discretely, but forcefully indocrinated to the idea that it's cool to fall for feminine men afterall.

What do I think about it? I think this is the true Aeolia plan. Turn the fans gay, and unify the fanboy base with the yaoi-loving (i.e. people who like men making out with men) fanbase and cater to their whims easier.

Sunrise is using Gundam00 to you gay. And the 00 stands for the testicles that you will eventually lose after watching this shit long enough.

Lost Trust

Monday, December 15, 2008

You don't really realize how much trust you've lost in yourself until you start wearing condoms when masturbating.

If I Hear That Word One More time

Friday, December 12, 2008

Christmas Randomness

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Begging is a pretty unique profession. When it's not Christmas, begging is just begging and people are cool with it, but when December hits, you can't just beg old-school style. You have to do it musically, or they'll start calling you a lazy bastard. Does your work require you to sing with a tambourine made of bottle caps during Christmas Season? I don't think so, fucker.

Christmas is like a big celebration of Christ's birthday. Here in the Philippines, Christmas season starts in the -ber months. From September to January, that's more than a whopping 4 months. 1 day out of every three days we spend our lifetimes in is Christmas. So if you're a clown and you're invited to perform for Christ's party...

Pag ako nagkaanak, papangalanan ko syang Simbang Gabi. Para sa wakas, masasabi ko na "Nakabuo na ako ng Simbang Gabi!"

The day I realized Santa sold me out was the first time I got spam mail through my chimney.

I think congressmen are a lot like Santa Claus. They're fat, believable only up to a certain age, and work only once a year - and we're supposed to thank them for it.

Pyramid Scheme Watch: USANA

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Here's an informative post.

Usana is another Multi-level marketing venture scheduled to start operating first quarter next year here in the Philippines. Its parent company is currently listed as a NASDAQ company, and claims it's far from being a ponzi pyramid scam because it doesn't charge fees.

When a rapist says he's not really a rapist because he doesn't laugh maniacally while doing the act, that changes a few things. In the end, he's screwing you anyway.

Here's an article written against the company, written by TerminatedRamp of the NASDAQ msgboards, reposted with permission, which you should take into consideration before jumping into the USANA PHILIPPINES thing.

Or if you're too lazy, just take my word for it and stay away from this USANA company. Feel free to repost this on other places so we don't have to have a lot of crying people after a few months.

As a rule of thumb, never join any multilevel marketing group that sells products you yourself won't buy. A sales company that has nothing to sell is just out to scam people.

Understanding USANA’s Pyramid Scheme is Key To Financial Freedom

If you want financial freedom, then understanding how USANA is a pyramid scheme can help you avoid losing thousands of dollars.

All MLM companies admit that in a pyramid scheme, distributors are paid commission for signing new distributors up. The commission would come from the $20-$40 fee that new distributor pays to become a distributor. USANA avoids this and claims they are a legitimate business opportunity and not a pyramid scheme. Ok, so that must mean USANA is not a pyramid, right? Wrong.
What USANA and many MLM companies do to get around this is pay commission to distributors on SALES VOLUME POINTS. Great! So distributors sell product and everyone benefits. Sounds legitimate, except for the following fact. USANA FORCES its distributors who want to be eligible to collect those commissions to purchase $107-$242 worth of product every 28 days! This forced purchase to participate “IS A FEE” to participate in the venture.

When you have 150,000 Commission Qualified distributors purchasing product because they have to, then those at or near the bottom make nothing while those distributors near the top (those who have hundreds of distributors underneath them) make over 70% of all the commissions paid out. This is how and why 99% of distributors lose money. It is a mathematical fact and a very disappointing outcome for those 99% of distributors.

This 28 day REQUIRED FEE goes toward paying all the distributors above you. So instead of getting paid a commission for signing someone up (which is admittedly illegal), USANA Substitutes this by paying out commissions every 28 days BASED ON THE FEES TO PARTICIPATE paid by the downline distributors. THIS is illegal and the FTC already wrote a letter stating so to the Direct Selling Association in 2004. Here is the letter and you can read it for yourself:….

If you are a USANA distributor, you should really consider what is written here and discuss it with your lawyer or accountant if you do not wish to take my word for it. Only then can you achieve true financial freedom by avoiding this pyramid scheme.

Doing It Right

Monday, December 08, 2008

Yung isa kong kabarkada, sosyalin pero hilaw. Nung isang beses, tinanong ko sa kanya kung bakit ayaw pumasok sa bahay yung isa naming kaibigan.

Sabi nya "Dude, no can do. He's got step on chase."

Ano ibig sabihin nun?

Translation nung isa ko pang kaibigan: "Step on chase, nakatapak ng echas."

Things That Should Not Go Together

Here are a few things which should not go together:

1. Holding your girlfriend's purse for her.

2. Going to a drugstore to buy lubricant for a prank Xmas gift.

3. Having your girlfriend buy the lubricant for you, leaving her name to the pharmacist.

4. Claiming the said lubricant yourself after the pharmacist calls your gf's name.

So there I was, holding a purse, getting lube after the guy calls out for 'Anna'. I can almost hear the guy's thought processes gluing the unexpected pieces of the puzzle together like he's goddamn Sherlock. Me? All I could say was "Pwede kaya pagift wrap to?"

Let's just say it wasn't a particularly high point in my life.

An Open Letter To Inquirer.Net

Sunday, December 07, 2008

pictured: fucking stupid


This is not news. Stop acting like a stupid faggot trying to get your ass SEO'ed start focusing on doing real articles - full articles that make sense. Like, you know, if I take a dump, it's expected shit will come out of my ass. If a boxer goes into a match, his face is bound to swell. STOP STATING THE GODDAMN OBVIOUS just to get noticed by Google. I know we need to earn money, but damn, if your journalistic integrity were a woman, she'd be all over town already.

It also won't hurt if you write sentences properly.

Best Regards,
People against dangerously retarded news.

Laugh at the video, not at me.

Thursday, December 04, 2008

(this video will only be available today.)

As promised, my first born.

(9:49:02 AM)
Jet-YM: it's a lot like the first time you orgasm inside a woman.
(9:49:20 AM) Jet-YM: at the time you're going I DON'T FUCKING CARE. IMMA DO IT NOW
(9:49:40 AM) Jet-YM: afterwards youre just thinking HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT? WHAT IF I SUDDENLY BECOME A DAD

Final 15. For now.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

It's been a long four weeks, and I guess tonight's a good time to keep the it's-still-a-personal-blog part of this blog up to date. One good reason I have for not updating as regularly as possible is that I entered Laffapalooza 2 by JackTV roughly 4 weeks ago. I made it to the Final 15, well above my expectations. But then again, when you're expecting nothing, anything that doesn't result in injury is pretty much above expectations.

I know for a fact that I could have done better, but I'm not really much into that "regret" thing emos keep on raving about. Mark my words, however, that the Final 15 result is by no means anything final.

Tonight I did my first real Open Mic. The shit I did in HK doesn't count (no offense Jami), and the workshops aren't really done with real audiences. The crowds weren't as big as I expected but then again, it's a Tuesday night. I got real laughs that don't involve a tickling feather, a loaded .45, and a kind word like before.

So far my GF hasn't officially disowned me for my corny jokes so it's still good. (Thanks for being there, Anna! Next time tell them your real age please. I don't like getting he's-a-pedophile looks from people who aren't from the precinct)

That said, the Open Mic felt awesome, and I'm going to keep at it.

Laffapalooza 3, better watch out!

Now, I have done standup comedy and with the help of my cousin, I've finished a real short film. That's two checks in my List Of Things To Do Before I Die. And I'm feeling that doing things in that list is suicide in the most challenging way possible.I'm not alarmed though. I still haven't met any twins worthy/willing to help me mark off the other items in my list.

As a message to myself, here are the few things that I still need to improve on:

- Cutting unnecessary movement, from swaying on stage, to swinging my head, to sudden unnecessary uncontrolled urinations. Just kidding. That last part was partially controlled.

- Facial expressions. I need to learn how to fucking smile at my own jokes at least. Seriously. Or not.

- Better diction. Maybe I should apply at a callcenter just to improve on my accents? Bonus if I work with Indians so I can improve on some jokes too.

If you guys want to see me do some of the things I write down on this blog, you can go see me next week at Toyz Cafe, Palanca St. Makati (near Enterprise Bldg). Drop a message if you're going. Drop a message if you're going and are planning to take me out with a baseball bat.

That's all for now. FOR NOW.

Sa mga naghahanap ng vids, I do have them. I just haven't uploaded them yet on yewtube. Too tired. Tomorrow maybe.

Twilight Review (And Why It Sucks)

Monday, December 01, 2008

Twilight is one of those movies I don't think I'd ever find the motivation to watch in the big screen, but given the circumstances tonight, I thought I'd give it the shot with the consolation that even if I didn't like it, at least I'd be able to blog about something that doesn't involve me talking about my bowel movements.

And given the outcome, well, here's the review.

Twilight is a movie about a girl who hooks up with a vampire and eventually, gets led into a mysterious, dark world where a war is raging between good and evil for over a thousand years.

Just kidding.

It kinda ends after she hooks up, so if you're planning on watching and thinking that summary is accurate, you're setting your standards way too high (so just wait for the new Underworld movie instead - same shit minus the overtly gay undertones)

Getting formal with this review, I'd say the casting is apt. Vampires who are supposed to suck literally are being played by actors who are natural at sucking. The chicks are hot where they are supposed to, and the bad dudes are able to look somewhat bad without going overboard (i.e. not like Sauron)

Cinematography is dodgy, with the weather elements being more erratic than the actors. There was one scene my sister pointed out where the leading guy and girl were soaking wet because they were inexplicably talking in the rain, and after the conversation ends, it's all fucking sunny again, and they're both dry. Another scene shows the leading girl taking an entire day to look for a shop to buy a book she didn't read anyway.

Dialog sounds like the movie was tailored for only two types of audiences: pubescent teenage women and people who like enduring the pain of having to sit through painfully obvious, and baseless conversations. If a girl is able to think the introverted blurts of the vampire dude is charming, then maybe she really is stupid enough to not figure out the obvious like everybody else in the movie.

The plot itself is riddled with holes as well, and quite frankly, you just know the whole story is made up as a poor excuse for fanservice when the "horrible transformation" that the vampires take on when they get exposed to sunlight turns them into FABULOUS glittering gay objects of homolust.

Speaking of homolust, when did all the trend of "vampires = gay people" start anyway? I'm pretty sure Vlad the Impaler wasn't thinking of creating an entire goth subculture filled with braindead guys making out with each other when he was impaling those 50,000 soldiers for kicks. This movie solidifies the reason why nobody takes vampires seriously anymore.

The movie makes Harry Potter seem like an Oscar-worthy picture. At least the guys there were trying to make a decent movie out of a book. Twilight on the other hand had me wanting to read the book just because the various puzzling references and fleeting, purposeless minor character appearances had me going "What was that for?" most of the time. In this sense, this movie is more like a visual accompaniment for a book that probably contains the rest of the plot.

For what it's worth, there were two hot vampire chicks playing minor roles in the film, which made 5% of the entire movie somewhat enjoyable, and it's quite refreshing to see a movie where Indians are the ones persecuting the "white people" for once. I don't know why it's refreshing. Maybe because the last time I saw something like that, I was 11 and I was watching POCAHONTAS.

As a conclusion, I'd tone it down a bit and say maybe this movie is good for its intended audience (14yo girls and masochists). For a guy like me though, it's borderline painful to watch. And no, don't comment about how I need to read the book to appreciate the movie. The reason I like watching movies is because I don't have to read the goddamn book. (see Passion of The Christ) Left on its own, the movie is a trainwreck and is comparable to other high-budget-but-still-shit-quality movies like "You Got Served" and "Equilibrium".

Vampires suck.

The Philippine Curse

Sunday, November 30, 2008

No matter how much you stir, you still can't get chocolate pudding from a tub of shit. No matter how many times we change presidents, political systems, and the hosts of our noontime shows, the Philippines will still suck principle-wise.

If I were to be asked what the root of all our problems are, from corruption to poverty to a very low quality of life, my answer will be very simple.


Asked to use one word, I'd say "culture".

Asked to use two words, I'd say "Wais culture".

Asked to use one sentence, I'd say "It's all about our low regard for other people and our high expectations in return."

We live in a society pervaded by a culture that enshrines the ability of a person to use his creativity to get ahead of others. A "wais" culture. "Wais" is a word that doesn't even have an equivalent in English. By definition, it's being crafty, but only specifically to get ahead of others.

We are part of a nation that raises their young to develop this trait. If a person is "wais" he is a person who will be destined for great things in life. We are taught to smash the mold, go beyond what's expected of us, and ultimately succeed above all else.

In reality, by doing so, all we ever really do is leave behind a lot of shattered molds that nobody will bother to clean up.

At its very core, we are being taught by this culture to cut lines, plain and simple. Cut lines where we can so we can succeed faster. If success is worth fighting for, it's damn worth fighting dirty for.

I'm sure I'm not the only one seeing what's wrong with that.

The basic principle of a properly functioning society is having people who can fall in line. Looking at most industrialized countries, their economies are built not by the coat and tie guys on top, but by a stable base of proletarians who are more than happy to keep in line. They have cultures that reinforce that norm. Ask any Hindi about their prevalent caste system. Ask any Japanese hivemind office worker. Just ask.

Life is a pyramid.

Not everybody can be on top, and that's where the idea of "wais" fails.

If you're in a line and it's wais to cut the line to get ahead, if everybody cuts ahead, then in the end the line will move even slower, or worse, not move at all. The same goes for society and everything that can use "line cutting".

Imagine an entire country filled with line cutters.

Line cutters who will glare at you if you don't let them cut the line.

Yeah, that's us right there.

The curse is in our culture and cultures are a lot harder to kill than bite-size presidents. There is no changing a culture on a small scale. You can't setup a rally that will change that. (When was the last time a rally changed anything anyway? 1984?) No coup will ever remove a culture, unless your goal is to unseat every single person in this country (which is gutter-stupid).

If you can't see this big picture, no matter what you say,

you're part of the problem.

Smart As Shit

Friday, November 28, 2008

I like reading books, but admittedly, I don't love doing that enough that I'd prioritize it over other things like, well, pretty much everything. I can't really find the time to read books, so I try to squeeze that nice activity in together with something else that requires sitting down - taking a shit.


The rate of how fast I can finish a book is directly related to my diet. More roughage equals more pages per day. I can't remember how many indian mangoes and turnips I had to eat to finish V.Hugo's Les Miserables in two weeks.

And I learn a lot from books too. Like just last night, while making shitpudding in the toilet, I learned about the State of Fear and how it's relevant to the hyperboles associated with Global Warming. Not bad. You lose some, you win some. By lose some, I mean corn-dotted chocologs, and by win some, I mean information that will not help me get laid, or become an accepted member or society.

So here's my little theory. The more I shit, the more intelligent I become. Like if I probably survive an ordeal with a bad case of LBM for an entire week, I'd easily surpass Dustin Hoffman in the movie RainMan. Fuck those vitamins, immodium all the way.

I think this is also related to why I tend to get picky when buying second hand books. See, the pages of the books that I read on the porcelain throne tend to turn yellowish brown. So everytime I see books that are a bit too yellowish brown, I think, somebody must've taken this book to the dukers, and its pages are coated with the sticky musk that comes from shit.

No way I'm buying/touching those.

Nobody in the family borrows any of my books for that same reason.

But that's probably why I'm easily the smartest offspring in the family.

Antonio Vivaldi Is The Shit

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

This is Antonio Vivaldi.

Today I will tell you more about this man.

Cutting to the chase, Vivaldi is fucking awesome.

Take a good look at this fucking picture. You are now being irradiated by a potentially lethal dosage of awesomeness. If you're pregnant, there's a good chance that your kid will come out of you with a musical instrument. Good fucking luck if he decides he wants to play the contrabass or grand piano.

Seriously, this guy is one crazy motherfucker. See how he manhandle that violin? If that violin were a woman, he'd be playing with its VAGINA. Vivaldi lived in the 16th century but pimps like it's just yesterday. See how he holds its instrument? Yeah, like an electric fucking guitar. If it weren't for historical plausibility, Vivaldi would have invented EVERY FORM OF ROCK EVER. Except Acid Rock. That's not real music. That's hippie garbage that should be forgotten in the dark recesses of history, like the MACARENA.

I was listening to his music earlier and felt like I needed to take a shit because the sausages that I ate in the morning were feeling rotten. I felt Vivaldi's music push the motherfucking sausagebits down my intestines real fast like it was a drill sergeant and my anus was boot camp.

Verily, no other music can do that.

LEstate, III.Presto, Tempo impetuoso destate, Guglielmo - Vivaldi

Fuck what's playing on your PC.
Listen to this shit and watch women
suddenly find you one sexy fucker.

Bobsledding: Laziest Olympic Sport Ever

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

I love watching the Olympics. They remind of me of all the exercise I'm not getting by sitting in front of the TV. Winter Olympics is even more awesome, because winter has it's way of playing down the noxious body odours associated with high-octane sports. Also, watching other people do sports with the additional handicap of working under nut-freezing conditions is pretty funny.

Of course, not all winter sports are created equal. Most sports that you watch will make you say "Holy shit, that guy must've lived with animals since childhood to be able to do that sort of thing!" Most sports, anyway. Others, a few selected activities that make you even question their objectives, hardly even qualify as a sport.

Yes, I'm talking about you, Bobsledding.


Bobsledding is a sport where a group of two or four men will ride an unpowered sled down a narrow, banking, twisting ice track that goes downhill. Competitions are based on which team can go down the same set of tracks fastest.

I'm not sure how that sort of activity falls into the classification of sport. Left on its own, a bobsled will be able to finish the ice track anyway since it mostly relies on the athlete called GRAVITY. Sure, the athletes are able to make the sled go faster, but that's only because of their WEIGHT. Now I'm no expert in physical activities, but when a contest depends on the weight of the entry rather than the abilities involved, it's already less a sport and more of an agricultural show. (Biggest squash anyone?)

Sure, there's running at the start, but they don't even have to run all the way. They just have to sit on their asses after the ride gets going. That's about as lazy as it gets. Taking this ideal into other sports, imagine a 500 meter dash where runners just have to run the first 50 meters and then hop on motorcycles the rest of the way.

Automated motorcycles that they just have to sit on til the end of the race.

You know what bobsledding reminds me of? Rollercoasters. Bobsledding is like developing the sport of repeatedly riding rollercoasters and see who screams like a little bitch the least.

I'd probably lose if ever that sort of sport gets invented, but I'm not really bothered. At the rate my stomach is expanding, I might as well be bobsledding champion 5 years from now.

Thank that, Jamaica.

Something is up.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Wow. Typo. Too lazy to edit. Still in a state of shock.

Thing I Learned From Counterstrike

Playing Counterstrike is one of those things in my list of "shit I did when I was younger" that I'm still unsure if I can share with my kids.

I started playing counter-strike back in 1998, long before playing network games became mainstream, and kept playing until graduating college back in 2004, at a time where even the homeless street kid knows what an "em-pi-payb" looks like. That's six years. A good 1/4 of my life I was playing this game, for at least a couple of hours per session.

I guess it's safe to say I was addicted. Now I'm no parenting genius but I think admitting you got addicted to something and being proud of it isn't a good thing.

But of course, it's not all bad. There were lessons to be learned in that game, if you thought really really hard. (or used hallucinogens). Here's what I can remember:

1. Humiliation is best done with the weakest of tools. Any joe can fuck people up with a magnum sniper rifle, but it takes a really big dick to use a pellet gun to open a sideshow of embarrassment.

2. Good fortune comes to those who wait. With a gun. In a particularly dark corner.

3. People are assholes, even if they're on your side. If there's anything in their inventory that can cause harm to both you and the enemy, expect those to be used where they can produce the most damage to both you and the enemy.

4. Following people is good for the team. It gives snipers from the other team targets while you pick them off.

5. You can't expect everybody to grasp the notion of "tactics". There are just some people in this world whose sole strategy in life is "Find an opening, storm the opening, shoot everything that moves, complain that some douchebag shot them from a nicely concealed spot". These people who don't really get to live long lives.

Corollary: (This are the people lesson #4 is talking about)

6. Nobody gets scared when you're trying hard to sound scary. Names like "darkshadow" and "evilkiller" only work when you're playing with 10 year olds. There's nothing scarier than a guy named PinkBarbie who murders with a pellet gun.

7. If you don't go to the toilet when your bladder is telling you to, basic instinct will start kicking in and you'll suddenly find yourself seating on a very wet seat.

8. There's always a reason to play CS. ALWAYS.

Chemical Manila 6

Friday, November 14, 2008

The fog became thicker as we went higher up the winding road leading to the observatory. I could hear the labored breathing of Toffee running alongside me. My feet were begging to stop, each impact from the asphalt made my entire leg throb. Behind us, I heard the footfalls of our classmates. I didn't understand why we should run away from them, but the whisperings of death in the evening air was enough to trigger my survival instincts.

I remember as a kid, I used to play tag with my friends during lunchbreaks. I was never the fastest kid in class, though I wasn't an easy target either. I would feint, dash, dart with my fancy footwork and I always loved the distracted reaction on the faces of whoever chased me. Eventually, I tired out and had to let myself get caught. Those were good memories.

This time, however, I just didn't feel like I wanted to give up. The footfalls behind us were getting louder and I felt that a hand would pull me back any moment, yelling a blood-curdling "You're it!", but part of me wished it would never happen. I wasn't a child anymore and I knew this wasn't a game.

The road began to curve again, turning towards some taller shrubberies in front of tall canopies of tries. For a second, I thought I saw a glint of light. Then two. I blinked twice and found them gone.

"Get down!" I heard a voice coming from the woods to our right. Were they talking to us? I asked myself. But before I could think any more of it, I felt Toffee's heavy hand pushing behind my head. I tripped my left leg, lost my balance, and felt myself crash into the hard road.

Just as I landed, the woods head lit up with white flashes of light. I spent a second thinking they were beautiful, at least until I heard what sounded like fists punching hollow wood, again and again. The scent of gunpowder started mixing with the mountain fog crept in, and I found it even harder to breath. I tried to push myself up but an arm kept me down the whole time - Toffee's arm. I rolled to my side and saw her. She was looking behind, where I also saw the bodies of those who were chasing us get pushed back, cloth and skin being blown apart each step backward. I watched how one by one they fell, motionless, bodies smoking in the cool evening air. Stench followed, and I would have vomited once again had my stomach not been empty at that time.

"Cease fire!" a feminine voice from the woods echoed around the silenced road. I tried to get up, but Toffee's arm still kept pushing down. It was shaking, and only then did I realize she was no less scared than me. I braced myself for the worst.

Footsteps crunched the soil covering the side of the road. I saw vaguely combat boots and cargo pants, but I couldn't make anything out because I felt blinded by the flashes I saw earlier. "Are you guys okay?" the same voice asked us. I coughed trying to talk; my throat felt really dry. I nodded, even as I lay in the ground.

"You can get up now," I felt strong but delicate hands lift me from by the shoulders. I winced and my vision became slightly clearer. I thought I was hallucinating at the time, but I saw a blonde lady who liked like a foreigner. Her hair was pulled back into a knot and her left ear was missing. I stared at it for a few moments and then saw her smiling at me. I felt ashamed but it didn't seem to bother her.

"That was a really close call you had back there. Almost got me worried, I say," she spoke in accented Engligh. She helped Toffee up, and Toffee, upon seeing her, jumped into her arms. "Madrina!" I heard her cry out.

They knew each other? It certainly looked like it. I looked at my surroundings once again. A team of soldiers had come out of the woods in full camo, seemingly scouting the area for something. One of them poured gasoline on the bodies of our classmates and set them on fire with a match stick - the same thing that they did an afternoon earlier.

I began to recall what had happened the whole day and felt my heart sink. I saw one soldier and he had a nonchalant look about his face. Anger welled up inside me. I tried to hide it, but I just couldn't.

"Murderers! Why did you shoot our classmates!" I screamed. "Why are you burning their bodies! Is it not enough that you killed them?!" There was silence all around, and the soldier who I was addressing did not speak either. Rather, I almost saw a hint of a pained expression he kept on hiding with a poker face. I hated even that. Hypocrisy.

The lady who was with Toffee walked towards me. I waited what she would say, but before I even heard anything I felt my face fly to the side, with the cold sting of a slap landing on my cheek. "Get yourself together! There is a perfectly good reason for everything."

The shock had silenced me, and I felt my world spinning. The lady started talking, but I couldn't make out much of what she had said. "We should get moving," was the last thing that she mentioned, and that part I got. "If you don't want to hang out with murderers, feel free to turn back, kid," she said with a sarcastic, serious tone. Toffee was silent all this time, standing close to the woman. I almost felt betrayed. I couldn't make things make sense, the way I liked it.

Rationality was of scarcity that night.

I moved up the mountain road with them anyway.

At one point we passed through an overlook. A signboard said "San Juanito 23km" was posted by the entrance. We stopped there to rest. The foreign woman walked toward me and grabbed my arm. She dragged me to near the edge of the road where I saw a darkened sea of trees beneath us and bright embers by the distance.

"Do you see those fires?" she asked me. Smoke billowed out from them, and even with the night sky I saw them clearly. "The Infection has gotten that far and what you see is the destruction it leaves in its wake."

Infection. It was the first time I heard of that word that day. What was she talking about? I indulged in my ignorance. "Who cares? How does some weird sickness justify the actions of these murderers today?! And why do I have to see a bunch of forest fires?" I saw surprise in her face, as though I was missing something big. I looked at the other soldiers and they had the same reaction.

"Those used to be the towns of San Juan, San Jose, and De La Peña," the woman said. "Thousands of people used to live in those places."

I looked at the fires burning at the distance. They didn't look so distant anymore. I can almost hear the agonized screams of those people the woman had mentioned.

I felt faint, like I wanted to just fall over and fade away.

The world had ended that night and I didn't even know it had already happened.

Dick Move

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Dare ye poke the unpokable? (also, what's with the "i will molest ye with these hands" pose?)

Sent in by FiSHCAKE. Thanks!

Somebody hates His Job

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I was browsing the site for the new Level Up! player content program and saw this:

Greetings, Level Up! Gamers! Level Up! acknowledges the fact that we have a very strong and creative community. We have seen your submitted work in the forums and we would like to reward your hard work and creativity by means of the Level Up! Player Content Program.

By submitting to this program, entrants hereby grant Level Up! a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty free, perpetual, transferable, assignable, sublicensable license to publicly display, publish, copy, reproduce, edit, modify, distort, use, utilize and otherwise exploit the submission in whole or in part in any manner now known or developed in the future, including, but not limited to, exploitation for commercial, business and trade purposes and for marketing, promoting and advertising Level Up! Inc and its related services. You further waive any and all so called “moral rights” or “droit moral” or similar rights that you may have in the submission.

Sounds like somebody's having a bad day at work.


One moment you're being smoothtalked into submitting work for a few freebies and the next thing you know, you're being smacked in the face with corporate bullshit usually reserved for the fineprint, and in the words of my friend Ryan, "usually written with the same color as the page it's written on".

What was that all about?

Subtlety was never a fine point for Level Up! as I remember it, but this - this is just crazy. Who in their right mind would want to submit anything after hearing that? I know who who. Those who can't read and understand English. The clause is one sentence short of asking for your soul, intellectual property-wise anyway.

Now I'm not sure if this is the page author's way of warding off people who are knowledgeable enough in English without turning heads in management, or if the author is just too lazy to make a fine print, the way God intended those things to be revealed (tip: secretly), but the result is just fucking hilarious.

But you know what, I like it. It's honest.

They should start applying that sort of strategy for most of their disclaimers. It'd be a revolution in the corporate world.

Or maybe not.

Japanese Warning

Monday, November 10, 2008

Translation: Beware of child lurers who use hats for bait.
They are not friends of Mary Poppins.

I saw, I came, I had a funny accent

Saturday, November 08, 2008

I finally mustered up enough cojones today to attend the auditions for the second JackTV Laffapalooza. The last time I tried to pull something similar was almost a year ago in the form of a comedy workshop where I basically dicked around, so this is all really new to me.


If you've noticed, I barely put in anything on this blog the past few days. That's because those days (and nights) were dedicated to coming up with, and eventually scrapping my material repeatedly, with the help of my guinea pigs forced volunteers in the form my girlfriend and my sisters.

It's been hell, I tell you. In the end, I settled with something I wrote while idling at work the afternoon of Friday, leaving me with a grand total of 8 hours to memorize things, give or take a few hours of sleep.

Being the amazingly dedicated guy I am, I chose to just sleep it off and use cue cards instead. I know it sounds sleezy, but I figured an few additional hours of sleep will cause less damage than using those hours to memorize (and from my experience with 16 years of schooling, I can't memorize jack shit under pressure).

The following day, I was able to acquaint with three other auditioners, JB, Mike, and Geraldine. Mike was a first timer like me, while JB and Geraldine have done Open Mics in Alchemy already. (I really should have gone with them two days before)

The venue didn't have any audience other than the waiters, JackTV personnel, and the judges. As for my feeling at that time, I felt horrified. There I was, a standup comedy virgin, facing a crowdless run, with a bunch of other people who looked like they'd make a killing even on a catatonic crowd.

I was third to perform, which is kinda cool because I got the time to pump myself up (at the expense of looking like a shit-chucking retarded ape beside the stage). When I got up in front, I introduced myself and took in questions. During the interview, it was awesome to learn that the judge, Tim Tayag used to be a software developer like me. Hurray for nerds who cross stereotypes.

Two things though, I apparently did not clarify enough when I said I was referring to dragqueen comedy as something I'm not gay enough for, and that I may have accidentally implied I'm gay on TV. Not cool.

The rest of the routine went even better than my last rehearsal on Friday night. I got decent laughs too, though I'm sure I could've done much better. Still, not bad for a first time.

One thing I noticed, and one of the judges did to, was that I was talking in singsong already, with a funny accent. Instead of coming off as funny, I looked crazy, which is one gimp clownsuit short of insane.

As for my jokes, one of my jokes was already apparently done more times than Terra Patrick on film, and gave the impression I was hacking (stealing jokes) and it was my first joke to boot. Really bad effect. I should've heeded my girlfriend when she said it sounded to common. I'm a stubborn ass, so there.

All in all, after I convinced myself I don't want to do this to win, and that I just want people to have as much fun as me when I'm talking to myself, everything came quite naturally already. I'm not sure how I'll fare compared to the other competitors but whatever happens, I think I was able to achieve what I set out to do.

Of course, getting a final 12 position would be a boner-inducer too, but I'm not really absolutely wanting it. Much.

Thanks to everybody who supported me, and yes, this blog will go on.

Much Ado "Oba" Nothing

Friday, November 07, 2008

People have been raving the past few days about how they now have a president who's from a different race. Big fucking deal. We Filipinos, we're ahead of them. We've been following an alien president since 2001.

Thank THAT, America.

sauce: Marvel Comics’ “Secret Invasion,”

RIP Michael Crichton

Thursday, November 06, 2008

I'm taking the time off from my busy schedule to do this post. It seems that the writer whose works of fiction have influenced my story writing the most has finally passed away last November 4 due to cancer.

I still have a two Crichton books that I haven't read (Airframe, Next), and looking at his wikipedia entry, only one book's left unpublished (coming 2009). I've always thought it's okay to indulge myself in reading as many of his books as possible because he's still alive. Now that the previous statement has changed, I'll have to read a bit slower.

Michael Crichton's pioneering way of making Science Fiction as close to reality as possible is simple, yet hard to replicate. He takes theories and interweaves them with actual proven sciences, making the seams between fact and fiction hardly distinguishable even with contemporary observers. Any idiot can say "laser aliens", but it takes a Crichton to say "atmospheric pathogens forced to earth by crashing satellites", as he have in Andromeda Strain.

Rest in Peace, Mike.

Those were fucking awesome stories.

A bit on the nerdy side, but still fucking awesome.

I haven't been updating lately for the following reasons:

- UNO (Hi Pao!)
- Fully Booked GL Awards
- JackTV's Laffapalooza 2
- Work work work

Hopefully, next week will be less busy. (and we can continue with Chemical Manila too)

LayOff Laughs

Monday, November 03, 2008

Laying somebody off isn't easy, but anybody with a low enough level of morals can do it without breaking a sweat. Laying off somebody AND having fun while doing it - now that's what seperates sadists by experience from the naturally creative sonnuvabitches.

Manager: Okay, let's talk about your appraisal this year, Joe.
Joe: Uh, sure. How is it?
Manager: Well, I can break it to you the traditional, straightforward way
Manager: But there's no fun in just doing that now is there?
Joe: Well...
Manager: We're encouraged to innovate around here so let's get rolling.
Joe: Okay.
Manager: Let's play a game. Do you know text twist?
Joe: I've tried it once.
Manager: Yeah, awesome game.
Joe: What about it?
Manager: I'll give you a jumble of letters, and then you shuffle it
Manager: the result should be the result of your appraisal this year.
Joe: Can't I just get my results?
Manager: That'd be cheating. Do we want to employ cheaters Joe?
Joe: No.
Manager: I made it so it shouldn't be so hard. Don't worry.
Joe: If you say so.
Manager: Here are your letters:
Manager: Y-O-U A-R-E F-I-R-E-D
Joe: What the hell. That's not jumbled.
Manager: Wow, you got lucky.
Joe: Lucky!? You're firing me!
Manager: Maybe not lucky enough?
Joe: I'll fucking kill you.

Creativity, boys. Remember how to use it.

Chemical Manila - Part 5

Saturday, November 01, 2008

I couldn't stop running. I felt like running was my punishment and redemption at the same time, the scenes of what had happened at the precinct kept on repeating inside my head. Each time, I felt the humanity of the situation felt lesser. I began to forget the idea that we had shot our own professor. No, to me, we had just protected ourselves from monsters. We did what we had to do. We did the right thing.

I felt like a kid. I didn't want any responsibility from any of it.

So I ran.

The road we traveled on was well lit, and there were signs every now and then pointing to where the observatory was. I felt that the observatory was now our safe haven. We have been trying to go there for many hours already, through many experiences. Deep inside, it was probably my ego that forced me to keep pushing to go to that place.

And then there was Toffee.

She was pale, but hardly from exhaustion. I've always seen her as somebody more athletic than me. She wasn't pale because she was tired. No, her eyes told of a different story. Her eyes were marked with horrified expression. In the end it wasn't "us" who shot a man. It was her.

As it turned out, she was thinking of the very same thing. "When I was younger," she just started speaking as we began to slow down from the increasing incline of the road, "my dad asked me to practice with him in trap shooting. He loved that sport, but I never understood why he had to take me with him."

I stopped to catch my breath for the first time that night by the roadside, between vast sections of trees. I just wanted to hear her out. She was staring out into space, seemingly untired from our running. Toffee continued. "He told me it was for my own protection, but I never thought I'd ever need a gun to protect myself. I thought of it as a game instead. The closer I got to hitting bullseyes, the better."

And it was that lucky hobby of hers that saved us, I thought, but kept to myself. "I never knew that side of you," I told her. Toffee nodded. "Being good with guns isn't something any girl would want to brag about. And after we came back from the States, I've stopped practicing."

It must be wonderful to have something you can get really good on. Unlike her, I've always been mediocre at everything I did. I can do a whole lot of things, but never get really good at any one of them. Toffee on the other hand was good at something, and something very few people can ever get good in.

Toffee turned away and remained silent. "Can I ask you a favor?" she said with a shaky, hushed voice. "What is it?" I asked. "When we meet up with father, can you never tell him that I killed a man with these hands?"

I moved sideways to see her face under the streetlamp. She looked angry, but with tears in her eyes. Was this the frustration that came with guilt? I pumped her hands once. I felt I could offer no more consolations. How many times more must she cry because of what was happening to us? I pelted her chin with my finger and waited for her gaze to turn to me. I smiled. "Okay," I reassured her, "but before worrying about that, we need to head to where your father is."

She didn't reply, but we started moving towards the observatory again, slower this time.

After a while, we finally hit where we had stopped before I was knocked unconscious. My red knapsack was right where I left it, which I slung on my back.

Just as we got moving again, we heard footsteps coming from another road running adjacent to the nearest intersection. I strained my eyes to see if they were people from the military, but as they drew closer, it became evident that they weren't.

They had school uniforms. Our school uniform.

There were five of them but I couldnt recognize their faces because of the play of darkness. I noticed dried blood all over their clothes, nothing else. They didn't shout at us either. I was reminded of Mr. Santos. I wanted to see their eyes to see if they were no different from him. I was far from optimistic. We waited while their walking became a brisk jog, heading for us. Toffee looked ecstatic.

Soon, they were running.

After they got close enough, I noticed their movements were strange, almost convulsive. And then under the streetlamps, I finally saw their eyes. Blacked out, seemingly lusting for blood.

"Toffee," I nervously said as I pulled her by her arm. "We should run."

Toffee gave me one look, disapproving but helpless. She didn't say a word. But when I took that first stride up the ever steeping slope to the observatory, she followed suit immediately.

I knew at that time I couldn't stop running again.

I felt like a kid escaping his problems.

I ran.

Company Farewell Letter

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Sa Aking Mga Kakosa,

Ngayon na ang huling araw ko sa , ang kumpanya na kahit walang answering machine at palaging napapagkamalang callcenter at internet cafe, laging masaya pa rin. Bilang pamamaalam, at dahil na rin medyo matagal pa bago magsimula ang standby suport namin, kwentots muna.

(panuto: huminga ng malalim, mahaba ito)

Tanda ko pa nun nagsimula ako, duda talaga ako sa pangalan ng kumpanya. Wala kasi sa internet, tapos mali-mali pa yung pangalan tuwing sasabihin sakin nung recruiter. Sa Hotel din yung interview. Walang opisina. Sabi ko, hindi kaya Yakuza to? Buti na lang si *-san yung naginterview. Hindi sya mukhang yakuza (yakult mascot, pwede pa). Okay na sana, kaso andun din si Sir * na mas mukha pang hapon kesa kay Sato-San.

Hindi naman pala sila Yakuza, nalaman ko. Mabait sila at hindi nila ako balak ibenta bilang sex slave sa Japan. Sa bandang huli, nagkasundo din kami sa kontrata. Gusto nila ng Java Programmer at gusto ko ng libreng mabilis na internet. Aprub.

Tatlong taon na ang nakakaraan. Nagexpand na tayo. As in "expand" talaga. Yung 29 na waistline ko, 33 na ngayon, mas mabilis pa lumaki kesa sa sweldo natin (joke lang po ma'am).

Lumipat na rin tayo ng opisina. Wala na tayo sa conference room ng hotel na kape lang ang pwedeng gawin. Wala na rin yung 4 na sirang elevator ng Magsaysay at tuyot na tapsilog sa basement canteen. Yung Amerikanong multo, napalitan na ni Itang (sa mga nakakarelate, hayaan na lang natin yung ibang masorpresa).

Marami na rin dumating at umalis. Yung iba, dahan dahan ang pagalis, parang pag constipated ka. Yung iba naman, sobrang bilis, kulang na lang ipahanap natin sila sa Mata ng Bayan c/o Inday Badiday (sumalangit nawa) Asan na nga ba si Sir Zaldy? Wala pa rin ata nakakaalam, pero nagpaparamdam daw sya minsan. Lahat sila, di ko malilimutan.

Dun naman sa mga nandito pa, parang pamilya na kayo sakin (e.g. inuutangan, pinagsusumbungan, kainuman, at kapalitan ng mga links ng porn) Joke lang yung links sa porn. Bawal pa rin yun sa opisina (pwede na lang kung nakapremium account *kindat kindat*). Akala ko dati, dahil maliit ang kumpanya, mahirap makahanap ng mga kaibigan. Mas kaunti pala, mas madali makisama. Mas madali din magmemorize ng pangalan, except si Marhgil, na hanggang ngayon kinakailangan ko pa ispellcheck pag isusulat ko. Special talaga name mo 'pre. Syempre, special din kayong lahat. Parang halohalo: Sweet, cool, at puno ng leche(flan).

Madami rin akong natutunan dito. Yung betsin sa beer na pangromansa (salamat Kuya), yung mga lugar na kasabisabi ng religion teacher namin na di dapat pinapasok (pero okay naman pala paminsanminsan), uminom ng beer habang nagttrabaho, magtrabaho habang umiinom ng beer, magsign language pag di na maintindihan ang english mo - lahat yan dito ko lang natutunan. Salamat sa lahat ng yan, at marami pang iba na di ko na kayang banggitin dito (una dahil masyadong marami, pangalawa, dahil masyadong mahalay yung karamihan sa kanila)

Di pa naman huling pagkikita ito. Maliit lang ang mundo. Mas maliit pag may YM at Multiply. May txt hotline din ako kung wala kayo'y nalolongkot at makaosap. Text CHAT GWAPINGS JET POGI and send to 2333. Free ringtone logo for every 15 messages. Joke lang. 10 messages.

Marami pa ako gusto sabihin kaso may gagawin pa pala ako na status report. Yun na lang muna. Salamat sa pagbabasa kung hanggang ngayon bukas pa rin ito sa outlook mo.

Through the years, through all the good and bad
sa paglalasing, sa pagsiring, sa pagtakbong nakahubad (hindi ako yun dude)
Paalam at salamat po.

Red Kinoko de Zobel de Ayala
Java Programmer/Analyst/Lineman/Spritista

Chinese Translation:

Nip nong ching chong ching chang, Chong koi la,
chichinichongkoi la, Infocafee Systems.
Dao ming si, kung pao wai Java Team!
(3 years on and I still can’t understand anything in your language. I tried hard. Really. Sorry.)


J - Just
A - Always
P - Program
A - At
N - Night

L - Libre
K - Kasi
A - Ang
D - Dinner

Kung may makita kayo na papasok bilang bahagi ng ACTS sa lunes na kamukha ko, hindi ako yun. Huwag nyo sya singilin ng mga utang ko na hindi ko nabayaran. Mabait yun, ilibre nyo sya para masaya. Peksman, wala kaming kinalaman sa isa't isa. Nagkataon lang pareho ang aming itsura, pangalan, tirahan telphone number, lakipan ng dalawang tansan at ihulog sa... teka. Yun lang pala.

It's Just A Ringtone, Don't Fuck It Up.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

I'd like to think that the late 2000's is the time in our brief history as humans that ushered in the age of personalization. While people still follow trends like the stupid sheep mass media has raised them to be, they now like to feel they're not by having everything customized - from their Friendster Profiles, to their internet messenger fonts, to that combo meal you order at your fast food.

I'd say it's an improvement, really.

bruger kinghave it your way

With the introductions of choices, however, there will always be a huge chance somebody will screw up with the choices that they make. (For examples, see voting;not using brains while)

But that's not what this post is about. I want to raise a huge shoutout of stupid to the guys who manage to fuck up what seems to already be a common sense thing.


Looking back, once upon a time, all phones were equal in terms of ringing. There was only the sound of the ringing - the bell ringer kind. Since you can't really customize that, you can't fuck it up.

Nowadays, it's different. Everybody has a phone with a different tone. Ring tones are as varied as the STDs you can find in Luneta at night, and most of them are just as vile.

But hey, it's freedom of expression, I dig. As long as you don't cycle through your tones while trapped in a closed environment with me around, I might not have to resort to axe murder.

If I hear that fucking Flo-Rida one more time...

Most people mess up to an annoying level. Then there are those who are just plain retarded.

Now let me ask this question. Who in his right track set of mind would think that having the sound of a siren blaring at full volume would be a good idea? WHO!?

It's not edgy. It's not cool. Sirens are reserved sounds for emergencies. Some dumb half-educated bitch texting you "GUD AM" doesn't qualify as an emergency. People who are on the road will react to the sound that's coming from your cellphone very seriously. If you're riding a jeep, you are endangering both yourself and the entire jeep. While I'm not really against socially-retarded people getting killed by their own merit, I don't like the idea of dying with anybody like that.

Ever thought of why people don't like yelling "bomb!" inside an airport? It's because false emergencies are frowned upon in any state or country (specially if they can understand the word magnanakaw), and in a lot of places, it's enough to earn you an anal probe just for spite.

There are a billion unique sounds being played in this world at this very moment. Of those things, only a handful are forbidden for use as ringtones. There are better ringtones out there, ones that won't let you fuck up the set civilized standards of our society. It's amazing how mouthbreathers still mess this decision making up.

If' youre going to make yourself unique, at the very least, try to avoid being uniquely retarded.


The Two-Cow Model of The Current Financial Crisis

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

(subtitle: Credit Default Swapping for idiots)

You have two cows. You keep one cow for reserve and you lend one cow to a poor farmer and ask another farmer to vouch for the borrowing farmer. In case the borrowing farmer accidentally overmilks the cow and kills it, the vouching farmer will give you a cow. In exchange, the vouching farmer gets "insurance" milk for every week the borrowed cow is insured.

The vouching farmer does this kind of insurance business to a lot of cow owners. Which is good, because he can sustain the giving of cows to people who get their lent cows killed. Unforunately, because of the rising costs of cow maintenance, lots of cows die at the same time, and the vouching farmer has to give everybody who lent cows replacement cows. He then goes out of business.

Now you have just one cow, and another that is being used by a poor farmer, but is now no longer protected in case the cow dies off. But because the rising costs of cow maintenance affects everybody, the farmer who borrowed your cow gets your cow killed. Now you get no cow in return.
You have one cow left.

Now imagine that besides lending cows, you also vouch for other people's cows like the vouching farmer earlier. And all those cows you were vouching for died too. Now you have to give them cows, but all you have is one cow left and a few "insurance" milk which will spoil after a while.

Eventually you'll have no cows left.

In two-cow terms, you're fucked, and so is every farmer in your farmerland.

Suppose there's a central cow economics committee that doesn't like the farmland without any cows. Using a large number of "insurance" milk, they start giving free cows to the farmers who like lending their cows. The free cows aren't really free, and the farmers are going to pay for them eventually with whatever milk they can make with the new cows.

That's called a cow bailout.

Now suppose that even with this new cow introduction, nobody wants to borrow cows anymore. Farmers who live off vouching lenders won't get their "insurance" milk, and the borrowing farmers will remain without any cows, because they're afraid they'll just get their new cows killed.

Meanwhile, lots of cows lay in the fields with no real owners. The farmers just find other things to do (like find another job, get chickens instead, or just die from starvation) and the farmerland eventually shrinks.

That's called a cow recession.

After a while, people will start missing beef and milk, and the farmers will start needing cows again, more and more, until the point that they can't take care of the cows again and we get problems like this again.

So all in all, it's all in how you take care of your cows.

Carparks, Carwash

Monday, October 27, 2008

You just know that your car is in bad need of car cleaning when you enter the parkinglot of an SM mall and find every single carwash boy there looking at your car with a certain degree of covetousness one might also associate with sharks encircling a wounded swimmer. You can almost hear their thoughts going "I WANT to WASH that CAR." It's like they can "sense" your car from three floors down, and will trail you like prey.

By the time you're parking, you'd have been encircled by the carwash boys, all helping you park, it's almost like you have your personal varsity Parking cheering team. "Sige pa! Sige pa! Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey Atras!" Parking has never felt so competitive, I swear.

I admit though, I'm a very lazy car owner. I normally don't wash my car until it's literally begging to be washed. Like sometimes, I just see finger doodles on the window that say HUGASAN MO AKO. Who writes those things anyway? I never see people writing with their fingers but they appear like magic. If I were to take a guess, it'd be the Car Hygiene Ninjas. Why do they do it you say? Because they're ninjas and they can.

It gets worse though, sometimes the dirt becomes so thick, whoever writes those things, has to use a hammer and chisel to write the message out.

And I don't know about you, but everytime I go out and drive my car to the carwash, nature conspires to make sure that before I get home, I will pass by at least one place where it's raining really hard, thereby invalidating the purpose of my trip. I guess that's her way of saying "Your car may be clean, but youz still my bitch!"

Speaking of rain, you just cant have that without the window-cleaning boys in the streets. Talk about bad business models. Who would want their windows cleaned when nature is already doing that job for free?

Maybe I should start doing seminars on how those boys should save the rainwater they have and use them when it's actually no longer raining, like you know, those three times a year when we're not being soaked.

But that's for another article.

Chemical Manila - Part 4

Friday, October 24, 2008

I knew it.

The moment I saw Mr. Santos again, I knew I was right. They weren't dead after all. I heard gunshots and I panicked, that's what had happened. I almost forgot the dismal state he was in when I saw him by the window. Trivial. As long as he's here, we'll be fine.

Toffee's face lit up with joy as well, now convinced that he had indeed come for us. We couldn't see the two soldiers but we knew they were talking it out with him, possibly helping his injuries.

As I recall now, even at this point, I still did not know what was going on. I was still stuck in my fantasies, and perhaps, that was my greatest mistake of all.

Mr. Santos did not come for us at once. What was the delay? We became anxious inside the cell. Toffee wanted to run outside, but I tugged her hand. Stay here, I tacitly implied. That way, there'll be less trouble.

Then I heard an argument outside, then shouting.

No, it wasn't shouting. They were screams.

The same kind of screams I heard earlier, but without the gunshots.

I clutched Toffee's hand and prepared to run again without even thinking about it. I felt paranoid. One soldier ran towards the inside of the precinct then barred the door shut.

We weren't running away. Why would he lock the door?

The other soldier lunged at the window out of nowhere. His pale face pressing hard into the grills of the window. Loud banging came from the front door. I took a good look at the soldier. His eyes were bloodshot to the point of being blacked out. I will never forget the first time I saw those eyes. They were blood-dark, and instinctively sinister-looking. The soldier by the window gave a howl, while the one blocking the door was uttering what sounded like Our Father. His boots slid inch by inch on the cement flooring.

Then it dawned to me. He wasn't keeping us in.

The soldier was keeping "them" out.

I didn't know what drove me to do it at that time, but I let go of Toffee and helped push the door back. I saw fingers that probably belonged to Mr. Santos inch its way along the narrow opening of the door. The fingers then got pulled back after I slammed it close again.

"What's going on!" I remember shouting, "Why aren't we allowed to talk to our teacher?" The soldier grunted, he looked out of breath. "Take the pistol by the drawer at the table!", he instructed me in short bursts of shouting. I felt the force behind the door pushing us back. Toffee looked disgruntled behind me. "What's going on?" she frustratingly repeated my question.

"Do it!" the soldier cried. I gave the door one hard push then ran for the table he mentioned. The drawer opened up, but it was filled with papers. I had to throw away several layers of typewritten files before I saw a black handgun at the bottom. It was the first time I've ever held a gun in my life. What was the gun for?

"Shoot the door!" the soldier shouted at me. But how? But why? I felt a moment of questioning and slowly walked back to the door as though it was all fine. The door went half open and the face of Mr. Santos popped in.

No, I thought it wasn't him. Mr. Santos did not look so grotesque. His eyes were just as bloodshot and his mouth was foaming with saliva and blood. They splashed onto the cemented flooring. Toffee started screaming. I didn't know what to do anymore.

Mr. Santos howled.

"He's no longer human!" I heard the soldier scream. Shoot, damn you. Shoot. I took my aim and squeezed with my index finger. It wouldn't budge. My hands shook, just as my eyes caught Mr. Santos' eyes again.

"I can't pull the trigger!" I shouted back at the soldier. He could barely keep Mr. Santos out now. The other soldier was gone from the window as well, so he was probably by the door too. I was scared. "The safety!" I heard the soldier shout.

At that point, I felt the worst fright of my life.

So far.

The next events were a blur. I felt somebody grab the gun out of my hands. And before I could even take it back, it was gone. I heard something unlatch. Then I heard a gunshot that muffled my ears. I looked back at Mr. Santos, only to see the moment his forehead ruptured and explode like a watermelon. Several more shots followed. This time the shots went through the door, missing the soldier inside by inches. Splinters flew in all directions, a few of them landed on my skin.

I heard grunts outside, while the unmoving Mr. Santos slowly fell along the doorpane, his blood repainting the white finish with dark red. My body felt cold.

I looked behind me to see who took the shots and saw Toffee, with feral eyes one would associate with a killer on a rampage. She fell to her knees and dropped the gun.

Then finally, silence.

"I-I killed him," Toffee mumbled. Her eyes now dazed, and just as unbelieving as mine. The soldier fell to the floor like a ragdoll, exhausted but smiling. "Good shooting there, kid."

His casualness enraged me. Mr. Santos was right in front of us. Now our teacher is dead. I felt Toffee and I were once again left alone, with the stench of gunpowder and murder in the air.

"Why did we have to shoot him?!" I shouted at the soldier while clutching his camo uniform. "Why!?" The soldier shook his head. I noticed that there were tears welling in his eyes and and the earlier smile, now seemingly forced, was already giving away. "We didn't realize what was happening. I didn't know they would be able to go this far so fast."

Who's "they"? I interrogated the soldier. The soldier seemed bewildered, though somber. "You haven't heard the news?" he asked us. News? I haven't heard of any since the Pasig river news earlier. Toffee was in a silent, listening trance.

The soldier was about to speak, but he grunted from pain once more. His sleeve had stains of blood. "Looks like they got me too," he said with a struggling, disappointed voice. No, I thought he was weeping discretely. "I'd love to chitchat with you two but you got to go to the observatory now. I think the head there wants to talk with you two."

Toffee was delighted to hear this, momentarily forgetting what had happened. She clasped her hands and looked at me. I feigned a smile. The last moments of Mr. Santos proved to haunting, jarring for me.

"Let's go then," I offered the soldier a hand after I stood up. He shook his head and asked for the handgun back. "Property of the army," he said to me. I insisted. The wound must be treated. To late, he argued. Just give me the gun and then run. I shook my head, but Toffee unwittingly gave the gun.

"Come with us!" I remember shouting. It wasn't like I wanted him to be treated really. I just didn't want to walk out at night alone anymore. No, not after what has happened.

But he had the gun now.

His face twitched with pain. "I'll turn into one of them too if I take too long. So go." He sounded delirious, and I tried to approached him. But his face was fuming mad already. He pointed the gun at me, and I could've sworn I smelled the stench of gunpowder that came from it.

"Run or I'll shoot you myself."

I clenched my fist, darted for Toffee and then ran.

We ran once more. Away from that precinct where the body of a soldier lay flat just outside the door. We ran away from Mr. Santos. We ran away from the soldier. I cried along the way.

I cried when I heard one last gunshot from a distance.


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