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Last night found me outside my house, sitting in a lounge chair in my balcony, sipping margaritas with my harem of hot and willing women in bikinis, waiting for a single meteorite from the Leonid Meteor Shower to show up ["But Ade, you don't have a balcony in real life, much less-" "Shut up, Journalistic Integrity, I'm trying to write something truthful here, damn you"]. You see, in my smog-riddled part of the metro, looking up will not only ensure bird poop landing straight in your eyes (what can I say, the birds here are assholes) but it gives you nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Kinda like this
Which kinda sucked, because it took me some time to bring out this lounge chair and pay these women to stand in my imaginary balcony. But sitting here will yield me nothing, except bird shit in my left eye. Maybe I need a pair of binoculars. Read the rest of this entry »
WARNING: Crappy entry ahead. What. I have a migraine.
So I was going to sit down and write another installment of Down the Highway, but this stupid headache won’t let me. It’s like two rock creatures were fucking with abandon in my head.
Okay, maybe that analogy may be a little too much. I guess the story of my migraine started off with a pebble. Let’s call the pebble Frank. So Frank was sitting on the ground one sunny morning. It was just there, minding his own business, being cute and pebble-like. Well that was until this truck rolled in and crushed the stupid pebble.
Frank’s family was devastated when they learned of his untimely demise
The truck’s doors opened and out stepped this dude named Frankie (ah, yes, a migraine really gets me creative with names) who was then hit by a rolling boulder that came out of nowhere. I dunno where it came from, there were no mountains nearby to cause landslides. Just fucking chalk it up to Deus Ex Machina or something, ok? Read the rest of this entry »
Before anything else, let me post a YouTube video of that cursed song. Please feel free to play it over and over again as you read my blog entry so you can get into my state of mind as I wrote this.
Back when I was a kid, hearing Christmas songs weeks before Christmas gave me a feeling of excitement and wonder. Heck it made me think of peace and goodwill and everything Christmassy. Also it means getting a shitload of gifts and I’d probably get the Ecto-1 I’ve always dreamed of. So I used to run around singing all the carols I hear, slowly driving everyone around me to madness because of my slightly (ok, not slightly… it’s more like majorly) off-tune singing screeching.
This entry is part 11 of 14 in the series Open Letters
Dear Future Zombie Overlords,
How are you guys? I know you’re really not into small talk, and there really is no reason for you guys would want to talk to us puny humans, especially after the Great Zombie Uprising of the Future will decide that we are inferior to the undead.
I don’t know where I’ll be when the time comes. I can hope to be alongside my fellow living humans, fighting for human survival, and probably kicking zombie ass every now and then. But since we all know I have the survival skills of a prairie dog, I’d probably be zombie and I’d be the fat stinky zombie who will comically stagger towards the female love interest of the hero. I’ll also get my brains blown out within five minutes of the Great Zombie Uprising of the Future. Read the rest of this entry »
Friday evening found me with fellow finalist Madz and her boyfriend, rushing to get to PETA Theater on time. We were running late for the 3rd Philippine Blog Awards, and as expected traffic wasn’t cooperating with us. The bus ride to Cubao LRT took ages, and the lines in the LRT station were horrible, and when were finally able to land at Gilmore, there were no taxis around.
So we spent around 30 minutes, dressed in awards attire (well, I was going for the homeless wino look anyway so I didn’t mind), running around a gas station trying to flag a taxi. Half an hour later we went “fuck it, we’re tired” and I flagged a tricycle. Yep, going to a prestigious event in a tricycle. Good idea. What could possibly go wrong?
So we traversed the streets of New Manila in a tricycle. I was sitting behind the speed demon driver, hanging on for dear life, while Madz and her boyfriend were seated snugly inside the sidecar. When we reached PETA Theater, I jumped off the trike, sweaty and panting, for all to see. Noelle, Marcelle, Marck, and Karen stared in the other direction rather awkwardly, trying to avoid my glance as I attempted to greet them. Read the rest of this entry »
