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Dear dude who was fingering his girlfriend on the MRT,

First off, I applaud you. It takes much effort to doodle the noodle in public. Really. I mean, with all the people around seeing you excavate the Tunnel of Love, it takes guts. You’ve got balls of steel to solder on while people turn away in disgust.

You see, I was beside you today while waiting for the train. You, me, your girlfriend, and a huge crowd. I kinda knew you were double-clicking her mouse because she was squirming all over the damn place. Hiding her crotch with her big-ass bag was a nice touch, though. It really made the scene more obvious, but still, nice touch.

No, I wasn’t talking about your touch. Ass.

So finally, the train entered the station (hyuk, hyuk, I made a funneh) and I tried to get away as far from you two as possible. Goddammit, why the hell did you two decide to get a seat in front of me where I can see you two flip the light switch repeatedly? And OF COURSE you had to stop digging in so you two can put on shades. Yeah, like that’ll hide your identity. Very subtle, really. (more…)

Man, your last attempt to steal my wallet was a dismal failure. I have never seen a pickpocket crash and burn so spectacularly in my life. How can you expect to feed your children with stolen money if your continue to work that way?

But don’t worry, unlike your other victims, I won’t laugh at your failure or kick you in the balls or report you to the cops even though the temptation was so much. In fact, I’m taking the high road, buddy. I’m going to show you where exactly you went wrong so you can successfully pick the pockets of other hapless MRT commuters in the future.

• Blending in – If you plan to steal some guy’s hard-earned pay, you need to be discreet. Nobody would suspect somebody who just blends in the background. And honestly, dude, your getup needs a little work.

  Clearly, a guy who looks like a redneck would stick out like a sore thumb, because – I hate to break this to you – there aren’t too many rednecks here in our third world country, much less people who dress like one.

  So dude, piece of advice: if you plan on not getting suspected, ditch the beard, the stupid trucker cap that’s two sizes too small, and the beer belly. Also if you try to be less ugly, that’ll help a lot.

(more…)

So Friday morning found me running and being epically late for work (as always), right? You see, I could’ve taken a cab, but no, I had to go through a tricycle driver who overcharged me, jump around East Avenue to prevent my untimely demise (being turned into road pizza by a jeep or bus or pedicab or tank), and I had to elbow three women just to be able to ride one jeepney to the MRT, where I had to endure a car filled with construction workers who smelled like they were paid obscene amounts of money to not wear any sort of deodorant at all (Also, the way they stank, it’ll take nothing short of Lysol to freshen up the air).

An old image rehashed for relevance

 
And I forgot to mention, it was fucking hot and humid. I was sweating buckets by the time I got off the MRT at Ortigas station. It was rather weird, because I just came out of an airconditioned, half-filled, smelly train just 30 seconds beforehand. (more…)

I totally hate the MRT. I really do. Okay, I appreciate the fact that it’s the quickest and cheapest way to go through EDSA. And if not for the MRT I’d probably be stuck in traffic every morning, cursing the high heavens for it. And probably commit homicide or something.

Fig 1: Mr. T. This is NOT the MRT

But sometimes, the MRT is just hellish.

Fig 2: The Seventh Circle of Hell

Anyway, once I got to the MRT today, it was absofuckingloutely jampacked (well, as always) that I had to squeeze in between a fat hairy guy and a pregnant woman. In between plucking the guy’s arm hair and playfully jabbing the pregnant woman’s stomach, I tried to stand in a way that actually feels remotely comfortable. By “remotely comfortable” I mean “the bodily contortion which is least painful and would not result in broken bones and an erection”. (more…)

I’ve always thought of myself as the most patient person in the world. No, seriously. Just ask my ex girlfriends. (Kidding, ladies. Please don’t kill me.) But I’m becoming really, as in really, cranky and short-tempered as of late and it’s starting to worry me.

Anger. It bursts me at the seams.
 

Take this incident from last week, for instance. I was running late for work and I had to go through another astoundingly mind-numbing human crush over at the legendary MRT morning rush. There have been fables of casualties there, my cellphone being one of them. Anyway, imagine going through a human stampede on a daily basis, plus having to deal with various armpits and the whole gamut of bodily odors can really take its toll. (more…)

Dear Faggort Who Refused to Stop Rubbing My Bird on the MRT,

I know we haven’t met before and I know you may have been taken by my Dominic Ochoa-like ways. I know that as fugly as you are, you haven’t had secks since like forever. I pity you. But not enough for pity secks.

Why the hell do you think that rubbing your hand against my bird is such a good thing? I know it’s pretty crowded and all and I know that you may have a thing for public secks, but geez, that’s just plain gross. Haven’t you already taken a hint when I pushed your hand away and moved two inches back? You really had to move closer to me everytime I move away. And is “back off, buddy” Greek to you? Do I have to speak fag so you’d understand me?

(more…)