My Macbook and Gay Fingazzz!

I’ve been resisting the temptation of getting a Mac for as long as I can remember. This is primarily because for all that’s been said about macs and their touted simplicity and superior architecture, I still saw them as clunky, awkward computers only pretentious art fags with small penises would use.

I am not really sure why I finally gave in and got myself a Macbook but I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that my previous laptop, a monstrosity me and my friends passionately call “Bubba“, has been with me for over a year now, weighs something close to 50 lbs, has a battery life of eight seconds, and takes half an hour to boot.

But yeah, whatever. That’s not important anymore. What’s important is that I got a boost in the self-esteem department for a purchase that is equivalent to the cost of my parents’ first house and anything that strokes my self-esteem no matter the cost–economic, moral, emotional and even criminal–is always a good thing.

(The company is subsidizing part of the cost of my laptop and is deducting the rest of the cost from my monthly salary. And that’s REALLY what I need right now. I mean come on, I’m 24 thousand pesos deep into credit card debt, and here I am spending money I don’t have. Yes, I am THAT good with money. And yes, I can’t wait to have kids so I can have a stiff watching them die of starvation and get a kick out of beating up my wife every night.)

Now, I hate to admit this, but even though I’m one of the most sought after Internet Marketing Professionals in the country (Just play along), I am terribly incompetent and ineffectual when it comes to computers (The last time I tried to install an operating system for my dad’s laptop, I ended up deleting all his work files and cost him a VP-level promotion. Dad, if you’re reading this, I’m still sorry for that. That, and the time I tried to poison you because you wouldn’t buy me cotton candy from Fiesta Carnival.), so you really can’t count on me to give an in-depth review of the pros and cons of my mac. In the short time I’ve spent using my macbook however, I can pretty much say that I enjoy exactly ONE feature and absolutely HATE another.

iEnjoy iSight (henceforth called the Portal of Pleasure)

I don’t know if one should even be impressed by this, I mean come on, webcams have been around for at least a decade now. But for some reason, my brains are all over the place just talking about iSight because, Jesus Christ this is just awesome. And I don’t mean just Awesome in the “Whoa, this is fucking cool” way but rather in the “BULBOL NG MADRE! PUTANG INA ANG ASTIG NITO! WEEEEEE!” way.

Of course I feel this way about The Portal of Pleasure because of the endless possibilities it brings forth as far as my sexual pleasure would go. After my relationship with my last girlfriend ended, my sex life has been a messy, tedious story of erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, massage parlors, and of course, lust and hate.

In retrospect, my relationship with my ex-girlfriend (who is somewhere in the middle east. Yes, long distance) wouldn’t have caved in had I bought a laptop with a webcam earlier. You see, the problem with me is that I can pretty much stand not physically being with the person, but I kind of choke when I don’t get to interact with the person while getting to see her. I’d like to think of myself as some sort of awesome sexual cactus who could go on without sex for extended periods of time, but because I am clinically depressed and need constant reassurance–and i need this delivered not via chat, email or even phone call; I need this said while seeing the facial expression of the person saying it.

I mean come on, it’s so easy to type “I miss you babe. I am really lonely here and I feel so incomplete without you” via IM while sucking some arab guy’s cock at the same time. (No, wait. That’s not easy. Whutev.)

But the Portal of Pleasure changes EVERYTHING. No longer would I be caught in the tedium of masturbating in my room while listening to a Jeff Buckley or Bad English song; now I can search Nicaraguan Dating sites to find a nice girl who can teach me about her country’s primitive ways and enjoy video sex with me and my Asian currency every week but not force me to buy “presentable” clothes because her parents think I dress like a homeless guy and wouldn’t call me out on my Alcohol Problem.

I really look forward to this. Whutev.

iHate, GAY FINGAZZZ!

The thing I hate the most about my Macbook is the way you scroll pages with it. With my old laptop, there is a dedicated portion on the trackpad you simply need to glide your finger up or down on in order to scroll pages. With Macs apparently, you do it by putting two fingers on the trackpad and gliding them to the direction you want to scroll to. Now, this might not sound like a big deal to most of you, but it is really awkward when you do the two finger thing and your pinky perks up like this:

The most annoying part is that this pinky perkup thing kinda sticks with you and you tend to do it whenever you use your right hand for what ever else like sipping from a cup, sending an SMS from your phone or even when you hold your bird to aim while you pee, and in effect–makes you look terribly gay.

It took a lot of balls to write this

I’ll keep this short. I am not one to throw around apologies much–mainly because, most of the time, I act like an extra large bag of douche and I am prone, especially as far as blogging would go, to terrible slips in etiquette and exercising discretion.

I usually do NOT care about what other people would think of me ,but this time,  I have underestimated the feelings I feel towards the subject and I really have no excuse nor do I know any other way to alleviate what ever damage was caused by my actions but to apologize profusely.

With that said, I have deleted a post and made certain photos private.

Again, I apologize profusely to all parties whom I undeniably wronged and whoever else it is who may have been offended by this clusterfuck.

We resume regular programming on my next post.

Bitterness

For those of you who care to know, yours truly is a TESDA-accredited professional as far as sending drunken text messages/emails and making drunken phone calls to my long list of ex girlfriends and women who, in my opinion, wronged me one way or another is concerned.

And since, admittedly, I have a drinking problem and have been dumped A LOT, you could imagine how much I end up doing this.

I am assuming this happens a lot because by an large, I cannot offer a woman sexual pleasure, good manners, financial stability nor can I promise her morality with respect to sexual relations or even love. What I CAN offer though is unyielding, dogged persistence. The problem is said persistence usually manifests itself after the relationship ends and when I am terribly inebriated. Usually around 4AM and about to pass out.

Anyway, some of my handiwork include:

“Hey [insert ex girlfriend’s name here], I just want you to know that I got reminded of you. You know why? Because I took a dump, flushed the toilet and the disgusting flotilla of shit that remained reminds me of you. You know why? Because both you and the flotilla are disgusting. And you’re both whores.” - Via Email.

“You might want to have yourself checked for STD’s. Because I cheated on you. A lot. Before you cheated on me. - Via SMS

“…Whore!..Oh, by the way this is not Mike.” - Via Phone Call.

“One question, are the cocks of Scotsmen really over 8 inches long? By the way, you’re a whore and I wish you get hit by a car and you get shit on by birds then a 747 crashes into your corpse. Also, the plane explodes. Also, whore!” - Via Email.

“You know what, I just remembered you. Why? Because I puked in my mouth. And if this puke had a reputation, it would be the reputation of a whore! An anorexic whore who’s obsessed with its weight. I wish you have abnormal children. You know, like ones who have big right ears and like really small left ears. What a whore.” - Via Email.

Where am I going with this? I guess I just miss having a girlfriend. I want a relationship that will spiral down into a pit of deceit, prurience, murder and a heart-wrenching break-up so I can proceed to send text messages/emails of spite and semi-anonymous phone calls laced with feelings of deep and bitter anger and ill-will after I down several bottles of Red Horse.

So I don’t know; if there are any women out there with questionably low self-esteem and morals, contact me as soon as possible. Remember, the sooner we start dating, the sooner you’ll receive messages like this in your inbox:

“Hello, it’s Mike, an erstwhile Internet Celebrity and your former lover. I just want to say that ending our relationship was definitely the best thing to do. Now, pleasantries aside, I want you to know that I put a curse on you and your unborn children which will render two of them severely retarded and one of them gay. Also I hope you die of some sort of painful cancer and go straight to hell so Satan can torture you for all eternity. That is if you can stop sucking cock for one minute; you know, because you’re a whore. Thanks.”

Pinakamalibog na Filipino? Me? Srsly?

I was going around my Twitter followers list looking to add some interesting users I might have skipped. This particular one caught my attention:

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Come on guys, just because I get aroused at funerals and cannot sustain an erection when having sex unless I hear the sweet muffled screams of the innocent doesn’t make me the horniest person in the country. Different or sexually deviant maybe, but horniest in the Philippines? Come on.

And please, if you really have to slap labels on me other than my rightful “Rising Internet Star” title, at least make the distinction a little more prestigious–Something like “horniest guy in the Philippines who’s MOST likely to sexually assault Jessica Alba or Lolit Solis“.

Come on, this is not hard people.

Tonsilitis, Insomnia and how pretty much everything’s fucked up

Last night, I had an open clash with my hereditary insomnia and it fucking pwned me. Big time. Now, my bouts of insomnia are nothing new to me but they’re usually nothing a couple of tablets of benzodiazepines cannot fix.

Such was not the case last night. I went home after a productive day at the office, popped two benzodiazepines and went to bed before midnight. I did get to sleep but it was fitful and intermittent. And after tossing, turning and throwing everything in my bed from pillows to blankets around, I sat up and was hit smack in the face with a major anxiety/panic attack.

It started simple enough: When I sat up, I started to worry about this report I left unfinished at work and contemplated on whether or not I should whip out my laptop, get a head start and work on it now. Then it progressed into me worrying about how I could possibly juggle next week’s schedule between practicing for a gig, working and helping my parents prepare for their wedding next month(Renewal of vows or some shit).

Next thing I knew, my anxiety took a tailspin. From worrying about work and my parents’ thing, it deviated to women to global warming to how I want to quit my job and be a Folk singer instead; singing in nondescript bars while being heckled the shit out of by drunk, middle-aged men requesting for Scorpions songs, talking loudly to their friends about how they’re going to beat up their wives later.

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