Mike Villar: Rising Internet Star

My being agnostic eliminates a lot of “fears” I would’ve otherwise had had I been subscribed staunchly to a religious belief.

For one, I am pretty much free to engage in what people who have actual religions would consider debauchery since I am not concerned with losing morality points nor, much less, eternal damnation.

And, because I consider myself a man who believes only in science, I am also not afraid of anything supernatural (i.e. ghosts, bad spirits). I, however, practice a couple of things that have something to do with some superstitious beliefs on women and how to make them enamored with you (i.e. stealing a girl’s panties and sleeping with it under your pillow until she’s convinced, magically, that she indeed wants to sleep with you. Or until she finds out you’ve stolen one of her underwear that time you took her home and asked her for a glass of water and the court slaps you with a restraining order). But then again, these doesn’t have anything to do with fear but more with desperation.

I guess what I’m saying is that I afraid of very few things. In fact, I think it’s a really short list:

1. Thunder
2. Cockroaches

Actually my fear of thunder is more of fright than anything else so I guess the only thing I’m genuinely afraid of are cockroaches; and really who isn’t? They are nasty and some of them even fly. Whoa.

My fear of cockroaches is so intense that I could be sitting in front of a really hot woman on a date and I see a cockroach crawling (or god forbid flying) towards me–I can tell you that, at that point, all bets are off. I’m fucking getting out of that place, pay for the bill missy and, if you’re interested in comforting me and telling me that everything’s going to be alright (and maybe give me a blowjob in the process), call me. I’ll be at home hunkered in my bed under a blanket.

Anyway, last Friday, I was driving to work in my dad’s car listening to Ted Failon on AM radio with the driver side window opened halfway because, of course, I was smoking. I was on a stretch of road called Mindanao avenue, which made me somewhere around 45 minutes away from where I work in the Pasig area, when I felt something sort of tickle me on the back of my neck. I assumed it to be just the label of my shirt or something so I reached back and tried to put it back in place.

As I touched what I thought to be my shirt’s label, I thought to myself “hey this feels a little thicker than what a cloth label should be”

So I decided to pick it off my shirt and take a look at it–and there it was, lying on the palm of my right hand, a little weak after I picked it off and pinched it a little but very much alive, was a fucking cockroach.

I let out a guttural yell–a yell akin to the sound one would probably make if they walk in on their girlfriend being fucked silly by Souljaboy–and threw, nay slammed the cockroach to the car’s floor and prepared to unleash vicious stomps from my powerful left foot to kill the damn thing before it kills me.

For a good twenty seconds, I was pretty much panicking and just stomping away blindly all the while focusing on not trying to hit any cars in front of me.

Now, while traffic up Mindanao avenue was crawling, it was moving. So, after wildly delivering lethal blows with my left foot, I could only look down to see if any of them connected for a split second since I still needed to pay attention to the traffic.

I reached a red light in the North Avenue intersection and took the time to come up with a better battle assessment. I hoped to see the cockroach’s guts all over the car’s floor mat but no, there was no sign of the cockroach’s anywhere. My initial assessment was that, in the fierce battle, I managed to drive the cockroach under the mat where it was crushed or it found its way out the open window unbeknown to me.

Somewhat relieved, I rolled my window up and prepared to continue driving– then I saw it: The cockroach was still very much alive and in fact, it seems to have recovered from being rocked earlier when I picked it off my shirt. The cockroach was crawling on the driver’s door panel directly over the power window controls and looks like it was poising to take fucking flight.

Well, that’s fucking it.

At this point, the fear and panic I felt earlier was completely replaced with violent hatred. With the traffic light still red, I pulled the hand brake, jerked my door open which sent the cockroach crashing down the asphalt. Smelling blood and with a speed and physical grace that surprised even myself, I got out of the car and delivered a volley of brutal stomps to the downed insect.

The episode lasted about 10 seconds where I was screaming, sweating and maybe crying (I don’t remember) and, in the middle of it all, the traffic light turned green and the cars behind me started honking their horns at the deranged fat kid thrashing wildly in the middle of a busy street beside his SUV with a Couples for Christ sticker.

It was glorious.