I hate your…

Bedheads. I’m sure you’ve seen some of these people around. I mean seriously, you know these people were getting their lunch monies bullied out of them up until they were in high school and pretty much shunned by everyone in college.

But, all of a sudden they become the poster boys for Manila’s hip scene because they have this “look at my hair, it looks like I just woke up but guess what? It actually took me two hours to fix my hair. Oh and I am a web designer and I hate everything” haircuts and they wear skinny jeans and expensive sneakers.

Let’s back up a little here: Hasn’t “not trying too hard” always been one of the more important credos of being cool? Have you guys learned NOTHING?

Deodorants. As a man who sweats more than humans are physiologically built for, I am very critical of deodorants. I only use those heavy-duty, high-endurance sports sticks and I’m proud of it.

Let’s stay away from and leave those roll ons for sissies because, I, need the sticky white stuff clogging the pores in my pits and make sure that I’m dry all day long - Just fucking crust it up there like that.

I’ve never really understood roll ons. I have no idea why anyone would wear them and how this shit was given the green light to be marketed in the first place:

Roll on inventor: “I created a new deodorant product! It’s a thick, sticky fluid that when rolled on to an average man’s armpits, will make him feel hot, sweaty and uncomfortable. In addition to that, it isn’t as effective as the stick deodorants we currently have on our product line up, it makes stains on your shirt as soon as you put them on and has you stinking like a shoe after doing 5 minutes worth of anything phsyical. What do you think?”

Company CEO: Do it. And make sure you get Dingdong Dantes to market the shit out of it.

I don’t get it.

A really really broke(n) Christmas

If, like me, you are a totally unsuccessful junior executive / alcoholic Internet star; chances are Christmas doesn’t mean shit to you anymore. The days when I would go around the city with a cute new outfit to visit my godparents and “collect” are long gone.

I could barely remember the days when I’d spend hours on end sitting on my bedroom floor to open red envelopes and draw the wad of crisp 20 peso bills (which to a ten year-old, is equal to around 150,000 pesos of the currency someone like me earns today)  from them.

Since I got a job that paid higher than my first job, which was a terrible call center gig, Christmas stopped being a highly-anticipated holiday and became more of a nuisance than anything else. Think about it: For the first time in my 25 years of existence, I feel like I am expected to buy presents for people other than myself.

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Blog Silence for Joseph Michael

I, along with the other editors of The Man Blog shall be observing a week of reverent blog silence for Joseph Michael Racoma, youngest son of J. Angelo and Caren, who passed away early this morning.

To the Racoma family and to all those whose lives were touched by Joseph Michael, you have our prayers and deepest condolences.

I wanna stop being stupid!

I’m pretty sure I speak on everyone’s behalf when I say that anyone can get through life without even an iota of intelligence in them. Seriously, who needs intelligence? I mean no one even likes smart people anyway. Stephen Hawking? Sure he can talk about theoretical physics all he wants, but let’s see him take on Yao Ming one on one down in the paint? Who’d be getting the chicks after that? Certainly not Mr. Wheelchairio Crippolio PhD.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me being bitter. As far back as preschool, I recall having felt intense feelings of anger and spite towards classmates who get A’s or B’s on their tests, while I received less than satisfactory grades made up of D’s and F’s.

Now while this is amusing in retrospect, I couldn’t really appreciate the D’s and the F’s my teachers gave me as they almost always meant severe spanking after class from the other members of the faculty.

Things stayed pretty much the same as I got older; only instead of D’s and F’s, the teachers wrote “5’s” on my class cards, obviously too disappointed in me to even write letters to represent my grades.

It was then when I realized that being a person of dismal intelligence is a sure way of getting kicked down a spiral staircase of failure by life. I mean, everything from tying my shoelaces to taking apart an automotive engine requires at least some sort of intelligence way beyond my reach.

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