What the fuck’s up with this chick from work?

There’s this semi-attractive chick who works in another department at work who, when I run into her in the office, looks at me with such terror and lack of respect accompanied by an air of intense dislike that I can pretty much safely assume that she reads this blog. Either that or I look like the guy who premeditatedly and brutally killed her parents back in 1992. And I share the same set of fingerprints with him. And the same DNA. Whutev. Semantics.

Anyway, Miss, and I’m pretty sure you’re reading this, you really don’t have anything to be afraid of/feel disgusted of about me. Just approach me and maybe nod your head in greeting. You’ll find out that I’m actually coy and meek in real life, so I’ll probably decline your approaches and overtures at first, but if you do it long enough, You’ll get me to smile. And eventually, I’ll show you a bloodied butcher’s knife and say in a grating, guttural voice: “I loved the sweet, hot wine that came from your mother’s heart–wine that I sucked from the hole I punctured in her neck with this knife. Also, your father cried like a little bitch…”

Yes. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

Future Pets: The iCat

Congratulations! You and your iCat™ are Made For Each Other

I would like to be the first to congratulate you on becoming the new proud owner of an Apple iCat™ unit! With proper care, your iPet can provide you decades upon decades of amusement and companionship–all with less financial drain and emotional investment than its predecessors: The Apple iWife™, iGirlfriend™ and iHarlot™.

We here at Apple endeavor to achieve perfection–a perfection made possible only through years of creating overly minimalistic products, positioning them in such a way that they come off affectedly trendy and attaching a hefty price tag to them thus effectively alienating the typical consumer–and we are untiring when it comes to making our products better. If you purchased an earlier model of the iCat™, you might notice slight changes in your new unit. Changes which, we are confident, make this model 420% more efficient and user-friendly than the previous incarnation. Read more

My friend Jay and the greatest conversation opener in history

Surprisingly enough, the start of my week was relatively subdued.  I, however would be derelict as a rising internet celebrity if I didn’t throw in this little gem for you.

This morning, I met up with my buddy Jay who got so fucked up the night before that he couldn’t make his way home to Fairview and apparently ended up sleeping in some girl he met in a bar the night before’s apartment. So yeah, we met up for breakfast over at McDonald’s Katipunan before I headed to work.

If you know anything about the Mickey D’s in Katipunan, you’d know that it gets pretty packed every morning on weekdays and when seated, each customer is only a couple or so feet away from the next table. Now most people, well, at least people who are socially and conventionally correct, might exercise restraint with regards to what they say as in such close distance, eavesdropping cannot really be helped. Well guess what, my friend Jay knows nothing about restraint.

A few minutes into our McMuffins and Hashbrowns, Jay delivered the single greatest conversation starter in human history–much to my chagrin and everyone else in our vicinity’s intense, muted aversion: “Did I tell you I got pretty hammered last night? I don’t think I even got to have sex with this chick I spent the night with and guess what? She didn’t want to do it in the morning so guess what I did? I peed on her sink and left.”

Um yes Jay. You already told me. But guess who you haven’t told yet? The rest of the people who were eating within earshot–A group of college girls who seemed to be studying for an exam and a group of business-y people who looked like they were in the middle of a meeting–who shook their heads in disgust and upon hearing your story, spent the rest of their breakfast listening to us talk.

I hate my friends.

Dress pants, wedding suckage

Last weekend was, quite possibly, the most uncomfortable days of my life. This is primarily because of the usurious heat that has taken hold of Metro Manila lately. I actually think that these have got to be the hottest days I’ve experienced in the city. I do not have any empirical data to back this claim but then again, summer is usually the time when I up my hallucinogen intake so I really don’t remember much of previous summers. (Well there was this time when I was about 9 and I got attacked by pigeons as I was crossing the street; there was also this summer when I was in high school and I thought I had some sort of weird-ass STD as I had boils on my bird but was told by my doctor that it’s actually chicken pox; also that summer 5 years ago when I hung out with my uncle Edgar when he was on a terrible carousal and after a several games of tong-its, I “accidentally” went swimming down the tullahan river.)

So yeah, my memories of summers past are blurry at best. But I know this for certain, it was pretty fucking hot. And I say this because me whining about how fucking hot it is would be a recurring theme in this post.

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A letter to the girl working the drive-thru window at McDonald’s fairview.

Hello,

Even though we have spoken many a time before and you get to see me at least 3 times a week, it has come to my attention that we haven’t been properly introduced. I am Mike Villar, Rising Internet Star, and I want to make lots of babies with you.

You probably only know me as the really fat guy who sweats all over my car’s upholstery and orders a double cheese burger meal with large fries and large soda. I, on the other hand, know you only as a semi-attractive minimum wager who promptly yet gracefully hands me over my order and tries to upsell some McFlurry to me. But, given the proper avenue, I am sure that we can get to know each other on a more profound, more erotic level.

Now our relationship, though only in its early development, can grow I believe into something that we can cherish for an eternity. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m not only after your body and I know that behind your cheap foundation and the poorly applied makeup that makes you look like a stick of special espasol from Laguna, and that cute red McDonald’s uniform which I’m definitely going to ask you to keep on when I assault you with my genitals, you feel a faint attraction to me. I don’t know what it is exactly that you see in me but perhaps it has something to do with the look on my face that simply screams “I’m willing to punch my mother in the face if you would just let me touch you” or perhaps the fact that I violently shake the loose change in my pocket while rubbing my crotch and mouthing “there is plenty more where this came from” in my best sexy manner appeals to you. I don’t know.

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