The Philippine Media: LOLCasting at its best

Am I the only one who finds the media’s predilection for depicting itself as a victim worryingly funny? Now, because every blogger in the country and their pet cats, in a quasi-journalistic fashion, are writing about yesterday’s hubbub involving a former navy lieutenant with funny hair, I’m pretty sure you have an idea of what I’m talking about and I am not even going to attempt to write about the machinations surrounding it.

Bleeding heart idealist militants are about as common in this country as prime time news shows showing a field reporter interviewing a suspected criminal in a ramshackle police precinct before finally cutting to an interview with the victim who’s talking about how the crime has caused damage to his life which are impossible to rectify. In this process, television viewers everywhere shed a sympathetic tear for the victim and summarily convict the suspected criminal in their minds.

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Why I hate wearing a tie


Yes, I know. Please just…just don’t say anything okay?

Tangenang shet meeting, pants

This morning, I received word that I will be in a meeting with my company’s C-level management unit and some of the country’s best Internet marketing minds. To say that I am a little ill-prepared for this meeting is like saying that I am only a “little overweight” or I “only burned down my aunt’s house in the province a little” back in 1988. I mean shit I could probably talk more about the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle better than I could talk about the topic of this meeting. It went something like:

My boss: “I hope you got my message yesterday. [C-level management guy] is flying in today for [confidential company shit] and I need you to be there to explain [more confidential company shit] to them.”

Me: [Panicking. Thinking of an excuse but my boss already caught me browsing my fantasy basketball lineup while talking to my girlfriend on the phone about travel plans] “Do I really have to go?”

My Boss: “Yes.”

Me: “Shit.”

My Boss: “Shit” is right.

It’s too late to cram and prepare my reports now so I am only hoping that I do not make too much of an idiot out of myself in front of my employer and colleagues. But even that doesn’t sound too promising right now. If you’re a long time reader of this blog, you’d know that most of the time, I have no fucking clue with regards to what I do or what I’m supposed to be doing at work. I usually work around this by hiding in the conference room of my office with a perpetual scowl on my face. When people do find me in the conference room needing something, I usually just say something to the effect of “Can you leave it in my inbox? I’ll check it out later.” I cannot stress how effectively this has been working for quite some time now.

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Flashback: no daughters

The way I strain my myself by intrusively and troublingly thinking about marriage is well documented in this blog. I also wrote about my long-standing grudge with God, how I am disgusted at the thought of having kids one day and how he’d probably be a big power-tripping douchebag and probably give me five of them.

Lately, the more I think about marriage, I realized that the only thing that’s worse than having kids is having a daughter. I also know that this is pointless since I know that God will punish me for the lifetime of douchebaggery I lived with seven HOT daughters. (God, if you’re reading this, my only wish is that if you ever do punish me in this fashion, please take me before they start ovulating. Thank you.)

Probably the biggest thing that led to this realization is a flashback I had of one of the crazy nights I had two years ago. I was out partying with college friends one night and there was this girl in our group who is probably the perfect reason why someone would NOT want to have a daughter. No, it wasn’t the fact that she was making out with another girl; that was perfectly fine by me. Nor was it her awkward attempts at giving some guy in our group a lap dance.

It was the fact that several hours into the party, I saw her dig into her bag to pull out a bottle, reach for her San Mig light, popped a couple of pills and washed them down with her beer. This was at around 9:00pm in a nice Quezon City club. Very classy.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The last thing I’d want to do is to judge other people, especially women, for their drug use. Up until recently, I was madly inlove with all sorts of drugs. But come on, doing it publicly?  What the fuck is that? At that point, I wanted to come up to her and yell “THAT’S WHAT THE FUCKING REST ROOM IS FOR LADY!” into her ear. Instead, I just gave her 400 pesos after a few more shots to grind her behind on my crotch and ask weird questions like “Is that your bird or your pinky?”

I mean come on. The first step to helping someone is letting them help themselves.

The Mix Tape…of love!

In about a week’s time, my girlfriend is celebrating her birthday. Since I am a successful, elegant urban professional, I have taken it upon myself to assemble the most romantic, most expensive gift I could ever hope to conceive: THE MIX TAPE…OF LOVE! (Yes, I know. Shut up.)

The problem with this idea, as is the problem with all the other ideas I’ve had, is that it’s half-assed. If I could write about a book about my life, a good part of it would be discussing in detail how I have always been good in starting and never finishing. My interest on things I thought I’m passionate about wane quickly. But this, dear friends is different. To say that the Mix Tape…of love! is an “interest” would be a severe understatement because recently, this has become nothing short of a full-blown obsession for me.

I want to create one of the greatest, if not THE greatest mix tape in the history of mankind. I want to concoct something so great that you’d have to be either paralyzed from the waist down or have a weird inverted penis not to get some poontang whenever you play this around women. I want to be able to make something so compelling that no woman, her sobriety notwithstanding, would be able to resist the urge to take in the awesome cock of the equally awesome guy who plays this mix tape. I want to create something so powerful that if Buddha was alive and wanted so score some curry-flavored punani, it would’ve been what he’d pop into his CD player

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