Impulse In The Afternoon

Brewed coffee, tall, luv, said to the girl.

I settled warmly on a comfortable chair and examined my treasures. One of my life’s deepest regrets is that I read books very late in life. No one ever told me it’s important. I was already in college when one afternoon impulse made me pick up a book I found in a dusty library. I was 17. I’ve never stopped reading since then, playing catching up. And there’s a lot to catch up.

I bought James Joyce’s Dubliners and Mozart, a biography by Maynard Solomon, in Booksale.

Impulse brought my legs to a Jag boutique. Doted on some new designs of tee shirts. But decided I need no new shirts. So glimpsed for the nth time at the woman behind the counter, sighed and got out. Same impulse (or was it a new one) said to my brain, hey, Brain, how about a new notebook and pencils. Said right. So went straight to National Bookstore, passed a P100 below books sign, ran my eyes over the titles. Eyes stopped at Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man for only P99. I had a copy once which I gave to a good friend, bought it for P245. Tempted to buy a new copy but I don’t like buying books I have already read. Put the book back on the shelf, saw Hermione Lee’s Biography of Edith Wharton and bought it.

Found the notebook I was looking, a small cutter, and a set of Mongol 2 pencils. Paid for them at the counter and started hunting for a good coffee shop to spend the afternoon. I found a cozy place called Coffee Dream.

Plain or flavored, Sir? asked the girl.

Plain. Make it extra black, luv.

Sharpened a pencil, read some pages of Joyce and a blurb of Mozart's biography. Put the book back on the table, tasted the brewed, and commenced to write.

Impulse in the afternoon is the dog's bollocks...

The Best Posts of Whatever Works 2010!

Not much inclined to write about best post of something or making any lists of this and that. But during a smoke break, a crazy incessant thought came to me saying, hey Jonas, how bout this crazy incessant thought: since you are always out of ideas or just too lazy to come up with ideas to write in your blog, why not try something different this year like writing the best post of 2010? There may be some poor blokes, or perverts, or those who are on their way to become one out there who missed something from the past year. Who knows maybe one of those posts will inspire one of them or keep them company during a loney night.

That still didn’t budge me to do anything. So I took a deep drag of my cig and thought that idea is crazy, not my style, but on an afterthought, I like it. So I told myself, okay Self, I’ll do it. I’ll write the post but only after a few shots of brandy on the rocks tonight.

So now just have a few of those rocky-brandy shots, and I am now ready to present to you, ladies and blokes: The Best Posts of Whatever Works 2010!

[Now wait, I have this little note: You see, I am not much of a blogger either. I average 1 or 2 blog posts a month this year, which I think is a consistency on my part since I started blogging 3 years ago. So I found the picking of a shortlist of the best this year very easy indeed. Kay, nuff said.]

Here's said list:

Profiling My Little Psychological Nook (or things you'll find in my room)

J. D. Salinger's Death: The Sound Of One Hand Clapping

My Job, This Blog, and Druuna

Sweet'O Voice of Yesteryears, or Now I Know I Could Do It

What do you read?

Conversations With My Self

A Tale of Two Piles

A Boned Life, Books, Comics, & My New Job (Yay!)

Friday Drunk, Mother’s Talk, and My Gold Mine

I Now Have a PLAN!

So there. That should at least silence the little conscience inside me. Also enjoy! A shot of rocky-brandy will do it for yah! Promise.

My First Post of 2011! Or A Quick Drunk Reminiscence of 2010!

I recall it was January 2010. I was mulling over my future. Working as an advertising specialist in a huge corporation, I was not happy with where I was and what I was doing that time. The job was quite easy actually making up things out of nothing, messing up the poor minds and eyeballs of people who happened to see my works on our advertising site. In short, it was a very fine good paying job, as my mother would put it.

I resigned anyway to the dismay of my advertising team and our manager, and the consternation of my mother. You can still come back if ever you change your mind, said the manager. We handshaked and off I went into the world of unemployment and new adventures.

It’s one year now. I haven’t changed my mind. Even managed to hop in from one company after another, 4 companies, and my last count says 8 companies in all since I left the good old university. And it seems like I’ve done the right decision, that is, after a time working with new faces in a new working environment, meeting more interesting people and some characters I couldn't find anywhere else. And yes, also met a very lovely woman for a companion along the way. I keep losing, though, many good friends and wonderful workmates every time the call to leave hit my gut.

Yet all I can say now is that everything in the world seems not showing any sign of disinterest in their wonderful conspiracy to bring me closer to something. Whatever it is, I only have the slightest hint. But with all the downsides, upsides and all those screeds that go with not settling down to some good place, I am enjoying the journey.

And hope you are, too, wherever you are and whatever you have now this New Year! Here’s my best wishes and prayers for whatever its worth for 2011! Cheers everyone!

How to Write a Short Story in 5 Minutes

Arrived from work. Tired. Found my little brother sulking in a corner. Ignored him. Ate my dinner in peace. Turned out he wanted a short story for his English class tomorrow, first period. Don't like seeing sulking people while my stomach is digesting food. So told him why just write anything that came to his mind, and tried to come up with something like an outline of his short. I'd take care of the rest. So I took a quick cool bath, drunk my milk, asked for the scribbles my lil bro had done. And commenced right away to writing. 5 minutes later later we had a nice little story. Read it below if you like. A slug of brandy would nice.

It is Sunday afternoon. Alvin and his gang agree to play a game of basketball in Norkis Park. In the middle of the game, Jeff plays it rough against the opposing team.

“What’s wrong with you?” says one opponent after he gets a black eye from Jeff’s elbow.

“Why? Are you a tough guy?” replies Jeff.

“Do you have a problem, bro?” chips in second opponent. Alvin doesn't want any trouble. So he tries to separate Jeff from the angry ballplayers.

“Back off, Jeff. We don’t want any trouble here. Let’s just play basketba..” A sucker punch lands to the face of Jeff. Jeff fights back. Two more guys go to Jeff with their fists. Alvin can’t just watch his friend get beaten up. So he joins in the fistfight and is followed by their other friends. A rumble breaks out.

The fight only stops when the Norkis security guards come with their clubs, handcuffs, and bad intentions.

At home, Alvin’s father scolds him and gives him an advice.

“I don’t want you to go out again with Jeff and those gang. If you don’t listen to me, something bad will happen. If you want to finish your study, stay away from bad company. Understand that?” says Alvin’s father.

But Alvin is a hardheaded person. He still hangs with Jeff and the gang, and gets to drinking alcohol and smoking.

One afternoon, Alvin and his gang once again agree to play a game of basketball. They put a bet, 20 pesos per player. The game gets tough. Once again Jeff plays the bad guy and elbows his opponent who gets a cut on his eyebrow and blood spurts from the cut. A rumble erupts.

Alvin remembers what his father once said to him. So he separates himself from the skirmish and tries not to get involve.

“What are you doing here, boy? You're one of Jeff’s, right? So you a coward now?”

The guy has a knife. Alvin wants to run, but it is too late. The guy stabs him on the back. The security guards and the police come. And Alvin is brought to the hospital.

After the operation and some days of recuperating from his wound, Alvin recovers and sees his family around him. He looks at his father.

“Father, I am very sorry. I should have listened to you. It’s too late now and I've learned my lesson. I hope you forgive me. This won't happen again.”

IOU A Post Internet

Arrived an hour from SM. Withdrew some cash, bought my vitamins, a can of powdered milk, and two books. One is a biography of Woody Allen by Eric Lax. The other is a novel by Norman Mailer, The Gospel According to the Son.

I was thinking of filing some articles this evening, but I don’t feel like doing it. I read Watchmen instead, which goes without saying is much greater than the movie. Cripes, I should have read the graphic novel first, then watch the movie. But I keep doing things backwards. A handicap.

I was not reading much the past weeks. Except plenty of comic books. I finished one fine book though, which I think deserves a whole post. The book is called Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki. Don’t be discouraged by that title as I was when Louie told me about this book. It took exactly a month before I picked that book again, and read it till wee hours in the morning.

If you are like me, you should read the book. It can do you good. It has done me some good, to say the least. Because we all deserve better in life. And because of that book, I now have a plan, which I am now really hoping to achieve, one day at a time. But these things are best for another post.

I still did not finish reading Look Homeward, Angel or rather I stopped after reading half of that thick book, and put it back to the bookshelf. Speaking of bookshelf, I fail to mention it in my last post that I have a new bookshelf. I finally have a decent shelf for my books which some of them were damaged by dampness and pests (sigh!).

That’s that for now. Need a smoke outside. When I get back, I’ll watch A Clockwork Orange. If I like it, which I think I will, I’ll go find the book. Also saw The Bridge of San Luis Rey last night, and have yet to read the book. Yes, I am doing everything backwards these days.

Friday Drunk, Mother’s Talk, and My Gold Mine

Exactly 7 weeks since my last post. Lots of things have happened since, and I am excited to tell you about them. When I say I am excited, it means I am a bit drunk. Because it’s Friday and yesterday was payday, and I have lots of money in my pockets to burn.

And when it’s Friday and you have monies in your pockets, you should get drunk, right? Wrong. I should stop drinking. This is not good. But this booze was a gift given to me by a good friend. And wine tastes doubly great when given for free. So I suppose I am exempted tonight (hehehe this is my lucky night!).

This emptying of bottles should end after this one, however. If you really want to know, I have now moderated my drinking. Because more important things have came up, and I can’t possibly actualize those good plans with a hangover in the morning. Every morning.

As said, I have an exciting (there’s that word again) 7 weeks, and I think I need to break them down to make this post less drunk.

I Hit a Gold Mine

Not in a big way. But still a gold mine. I am referring to my job.

What? Your job? A gold mine? It is, my friend. Now let me explain. As mentioned gazillion times on this blog, I am not the type of person who stays in one company for a long time. My current record is 10 months. And that was the time when I taught Humanities and Philosophy in a college in Leyte.

When I feel like I have nothing more to prove, or learn from the company I work for, or sometimes other less romantic reasons, I resign and hop in to another. So that makes 8 companies in all for almost 3 years. And this got my family really worried, especially my mother who would call me right away whenever she heard the news of me resigning from a job.

It was a good work, a fine company, she would say. Why in Jesus’ name did you resign? You're already 27! You should find a good girl, settle down blah blah blah... She would go on to lecture me on the perils of my choice and the virtue of patience and hard work for 8 or more occasions. But none of us learned from those long talks.

But good things happen to those who don’t settle down, I think. At least it happens to me. I found a good company, with good people, and the right ideas they are giving me, which resulted of me earning more money than my past jobs. And there's that greater possibility to earn more if I manage to stay sober, minimize my brooding, drink my nightly glass of milk, and read more Tim Ferriss, Robert Kiyosaki, and Pat Flynn.

(Cripes. This post has gone too long. So I am going to two-part it or maybe more. Sorry for the tease. Some more posts next time.)

A Boned Life, Books, Comics, & My New Job (Yay!)

After some writing stints in various companies (8 all in all) for almost 3 years, I am once again in this mood to re-examine my life. Like that old fish in a story told by David Foster Wallace, I ask myself this question: So, Jonas, how's the water? Well, there's only one word to describe it: BONED. Yes, boned water. Go figure.

Also here are some updates of latest happenings since my last post:

Read two books

1. The Tombs of Atuan (Ursula K. Le Guin)
2. Side Effects (Woody Allen)

I was quite busy this past two weeks. I wrote my last article for Rambo, which he will probably hate or love (that depends on his mood). And last July 30, Friday, was a blast night with my former officemates in Kitteric. Here, let Xan tells you the story. You’ll love her blog, too. I'm especially digging this:

I... remember him coming to the office ever so timid and silent, smoking a stick or two, and wearing the most decent clothes among us all, he looked boring to me. But it didn't last long, thank jeebuz! The real Jonas was pretty much an alcoholic and talks of so many things in a span of, oh I don't know, let's just exaggerate it to 5 minutes. He's got tons of stories to tell, books to share, and words that sends me to look them up in google.

Xan's story complete with pictures explains why that Saturday morning didn’t do well for me to open a book. And I just realized again that two cappuccinos and a couple of biogesics won’t go well with a hangover, or maybe still don’t enough. But I may again forget.

The hangover was still with me till Sunday. The rest of the day was spent trying to stay sober till evening, and succeeded, of course. Monday was my first day on the new job. So you can surely get the picture. I did finally find to chuck some minutes to read the second book of Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle in the weekdays.

And I have to tell you, Woody Allen’s Side Effects is pure hilarious. But still, in my opinion, the man is a lot funnier and more wicked in movies.


I am now again starting to read Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe. Maybe this is the best time to read him. I am also nibbling some pages of Tribute, a true treasure to me, thanks to Genica for this great gift. Also gave her one of my favorites, Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man.

Read 15 comic books

Yes, kids, I am an awesome hoarder of comic books. And I don’t want to finish them off in just one go. That wouldn't be proper. The best thing to do with comic books is to consume them one dose at a time. You have no idea how it weakens me trying to keep myself from taking more than two comics a day. I have to control my impulse. And I tell you, it takes a lot of discipline.

Put up a new blog about SEO

I know it would be a boring site to keep. But when I started toying with the idea in my head, I was surprised when I find my self loaded with ideas to put there. I already have some rough drafts in my laptop that I’ll soon publish there. I am also reading blogs about passive income. Maybe writing articles about SEO content is my best niche to generate some dollars in the internet. Yes, Internet, you can’t keep me from getting rich someday.

Got a new job

My 8th job in three years since I left the university. This time I am the staff writer of Live2Sell Group of Companies. I average 7 articles a day and I think I can improve on that. I am targeting to produce 10 500-word articles, SEO techniques applied, per day. The company pays me higher than my previous jobs in the past, and I can still do some freelance writing on the side.

It’s early yet to tell, but I love the location and the environment in the office. The Boss seems a good man, too. I also work with an awesome team of SEO specialists. SEO people are best kind of people in the world. I have never met one whom I don’t like, except perhaps the one side of Rambo when he’s on one of his epiphanic moods, which could turn you to stone or bore you to death as they put it, deluding himself to think that he is the fricking Justin Bieber of SEO. Maybe he is. Or at least he has that spirit.

What Makes Your Saturday A Great Day, Jonas?

Saturday would be a great day if:

1. 1. I wake up in the morning not too hangover to read a book.
2. 2. there's still enough time for a cup of black coffee and two cigarettes before going off somewhere. This time is Parkmall for another cup of cappuccino, and single espresso with my brother.
3. 3. I find some good books in Booksale. Which I did and made me a happy man indeed with such find as Bernard Malamud's The Natural, Richard Ford's The Sportswriter, Eleven Plays of William Butler Yeats, James Baldwin's Go Tell It On The Mountain, Ursula K. Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea, Louis L'Amour's The Skyliners, and Herman Melville's The Confidence-Man.
4. 4. there's an email for me from an unknown sender telling me that I just won a boatload of money, in which I would email the fricking retard back to Fuck Off! In which that hearty expletive would make me feel better.
   
5. 5. there are pretty dames inside the Coffee Dream.
6. 6. it's not raining at 3 O'clock in the afternoon, and I would then stop this list here, gather my books, turn off this laptop, put the camera inside the bag, and some grocery items, take a taxi home, change to sport's attire, get some money for betting, and play a few games of basketball.
7. 7. there's no number 7 and you've to move along.

Sweet'O Voice of Yesteryears, or Now I Know I Could Do It

Yesterday, a voice from a distant past made my heart jumped. Oh, what a sweet voice! When I looked back, I saw a lovely face of a young woman! The melancholy that was devouring inside my heart suddenly left me. Felt like I had long expected that voice, calling me with that name, which was once I called mine.

* * * * * * *

It was two years ago. Just quit from a job. I was in no mood to apply for a new one. I figured that my last salary would be enough to last me for a month without work. It would mean living frugally, which would also mean days without food. But my rented room was a wonderful haven. It had several piles of good books I'd accumulated for months, a coffeemaker with enough supply of 2-peso Nescafe classic, a good stock of wine that include some bottles of gin, brandy, rum, whiskey and, occasionally, beer, a DVD player, and a 21-inch TV. The TV was lent to me by a now ex-girlfriend, who took the TV with her, of course, after we broke up. A piece of bread was enough to quell the hunger so I didn’t need much more than that. Sometimes I bought food from a street vendor and ate in a sidewalk, and occasionally in a cheap restaurant. I was economical and would only spend what money I have to buy for pirated DVD copies of good movies, second-hand books, a good supply of bread and wine. The days passed by fast and heavenly though I was often hungry. But, cripes, those wonderful mornings were bliss when the rays of the sun would fill my room at 8, and the coffeemaker would soon be brewing. The smell of coffee would heighten my famishing stomach, and I would eat a leftover of bread bought the other day with a relish, washing it with a slug of brandy, and followed by a cup of coffee.

It was during this time also that I had read Saul Bellow’s Herzog and The Adventures of Augie March, E. L. Doctorow’s Ragtime, James Joyce’s A Portrait of A Man As An Artist, a rare copy of Ernest Hemingway’s Islands in The Stream, George Orwell’s 1984, Philip Roth’s Ghost Writer, Bernard Malamud’s The Tenant, and biographies of Theodore Dreiser, Truman Capote, Jack Kerouac, Gore Vidal, and V. S. Pritchett.

That time, I still not owned a laptop. So I wrote in longhand and filled some pages of my notebook, or write in bond papers. I read most hours of the day, and watched a movie in the evening usually starred by Johnnny Depp or Anthony Hopkins, or I watched and listened to a record of The Carpenters, or a documentary of Bob Dylan and The Beatles.

Why I post this here is anybody’s guess. Maybe it’s the flask bottle of Matador brandy, which I downed in one go to see if I can do it. Which I apparently could. But may again forget later. Or maybe it is because of that sweet voice that has touched a chord in me, making me want to express or write up something, anything, while I still think of that voice reverberating in the solitude of my heart.

The Holy Chore of Blogging

This is a fulfillment of a promise made some days ago, that is, to refresh or rethink my real intentions for this blog.

So I continue to pound my head for some lofty-gritty thoughts. But the stagger remains unyielding. But somehow I’ve learned to tough out, consoling myself of the thought that only the strong drink deeply in life, or whatever that means. And speaking of drink, I seemed to have satisfied a client (I haven't heard from him yet) who asked me to write some articles on vintage wines, and selected red and white varietals, while I myself is thirsting for one. So enough. Will need to go out then and buy some cheap grog outside. But that can wait a little. And, cripes, how these train of thoughts are taking me somewhere else.

As you can see, I am now breaking my habit of not blogging. Just feel like I am much obliged to that responsibility of the holy chore of writing. And contrary to some beliefs, I have so much love for this site here. Right. This is the site that has helped me discover my strong inclination to blogging. I owe it to this site that provides me a space for honing my voice, and try to find out if I like the sound of it, or hate it, or both. That is, at the expense of others, preferably not you. I mean you reading this.

Holycripes, I love and hate it. I love it because it’s really my voice and hate it because it hurts the feeling of others though without really my intention to do so. So whatever crap or awesome I may produce for the following days and weeks to come, you too are instrumental to it.

Meanwhile, allow this poor scribe to look at his piles of books first before he calls it a day, and goes his way out. He also made a promise to consolidate his books, rearrange them, and probably blog something about them for next post.

Till Doomsday and Kingdom Come

Seems like I need again to break my habit of not attending to my blog. You may notice that I was not blogging for one straight month. And during that period, interesting events were happening that were worthy of a blog, and which I just observed in silence, doing nothing but sipped my favorite grog with pleasure and toying the idea of getting a good honest laid.

Anyway, blogworthy events were happening on that one month duration like putting fear to my girlfriend's stalker and several of my idolized personas had finally decided to become dead.

Arranged alphabetically, they are Cory Aquino (for revolutionizing Philippine Politics), Frank McCourt (for giving the world his most well-loved memoirs: Angela’s Ashes, ‘Tis, and Teacher Man), Michael Jackson (for his Moonwalk minus his expensively distorted face), and Regalada Aleria (my grandmother who once bought me a Boyz II Men T-shirt and for cooking for me my favorite dinurog, her own specialty made of a hodge-podge of native delicacies).

To boot, other equally disappointing yet funny footnotes of bad history were occurring too such as the elevation of Carlo J. Caparas to National Artistdom, which means I can be a National Artist too, okay, you too, provided we still have this kind of government when we are as old as Carlo Fucking-J-Fucking Caparas and continue doing what we are doing at present: producing crap in strong doses, prolifically. An angry critic once compared my writings to said Carlo J. Caparas. So don’t envy me when I get that award any year now. The other one which no longer surprise me was the 10,000,000php Gloria Macapagal Arroyo had spent for a dinner in New York. Others said it’s 1,000,000php in a fucking blowout. But whichever sources you consult, a million pesos spent in a single dinner to satisfy one’s hunger (or is it bodily hunger they wanted to fill?) is pure motherfucking craziness and retardity, making my 20 pesos daily allowance for food looks like a crumb.

But Gloria is widely known as delusional and retarded is no longer a surprise. But, hey, let’s not envy her ‘coz she’s crazy, retarded and all as well as those people surrounding her. She’s our fucking President for crissakess! Or supposed to be one, that is, if we really have one since Erap was caught fucking with our women and spending our money on big time gambling. But at least we can honestly say that the good ole man Erap was really the President, short time though it was, yet had still the time enjoying those (expletives expletives***) awesome benefits!

I once blogged about voting next year’s elections only if Ed Panlilio will run for the presidency. I should add Noynoy Aquino to my wishlist. Well, either the Ed or Noynoy should run. We can never go wrong to any one of them. Otherwise, I better not vote and stay in my reclusive room with the ants, mosquitoes, my rum and brandy, books, and the occasional visit of the girlfriend till doomsday and kingdom come.

Now wait…’

Why I Blog (Or When I Blog Another Internet Soul Dies)

I write for two reasons. No. Not to fool you, dear reader. But first for the money (I am poor) and thanks to my girlfriend who has arranged almost everything for me, making things easier. A lot easier. I can’t imagine without her now. And second is to explain why I am still writing, anything, like something blogworthy to you and for myself. I reason to my brain that if I am not writing for the money and for other explicatory reasons, where would I possibly be now? Or what would I probably be doing? Finding some answers will be pointless as you can see.

And cripes I can’t help myself imagining drinking some grog as the sun sets in a beach somewhere while toying somebody’s nipples, or something. (See, brain, how futile asking those questions?) Also I am a corrupted doomed soul, and I am better be.



So I just decided to stop asking and just continue doing what I’ve been doing everyday, focus on productivity and, well, quality too and see where all this can be leading us to.

And for some important note to myself: seems like I’ve now neglected my reading load for some days, no, it looks like months already. I am currently trying to finish reading The Complete Novels and Stories of Sherlock Holmes and The Dark Side of Genius. The first is a preparation for the upcoming movie, which I am planning to make a review. The latter is to feed my system with all the eccentricities I need.

Is.That.You? Persephone? NOOOOOooooooooh!

This is killing me. The girl I am in love with is the fucking Persephone. Holy shit! Okay, I gotta go... out of here fast..'

Shitttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!

---------------............running***

Now wait: just some random thoughts:

This is my third blog in two days. That's a new record. I should deserve some reward, or something, from Blogger.com. Hey, guys! Yes, you guys from Blogger. Damn you people, I've been very kind to you and I think you should send me some special teats or treats, whatever, for my efforts.

'Coz I'm too lazy to dig them, a whole year photo updates of Megan Fox will surely be nice and, yes, appreciated. Whatchuthink?! No? I hate you guys! I hate you!

And I need some drinks..'

The Tyranny of Or

I like you to stay a minute longer, dear reader, I’ve something important to tell you yet. I commit this same mistake again. And I feel like hell. Against myself. Against this beautiful woman. Against the world.

Okay, against you too, Internet.

As you can see, at my age, I am 26, single, with some millions of pesos in the bank which is not mine and have filed some couple of years living with what I wrote. I should be writing more than I am. I mean writing or blogging as much as I can instead of wasting my time with other things besides writing and poking fun at people around us: those foolish women you meet almost everywhere, men who think they know something about saving the world (I don’t know about saving the world, or even care saving it, so don’t count me), and making fun of those fucking politicians who think they have g-balls and vaginas lots awesomer and lots bigger than the other politicians among them. Which is crap, right? But, that’s what they have been doing, right? And we pay them our fucking money for some years now.

Fuck it’s our money and I think we should be angry and hang them, g-balls, vaginas and all, in some trees and put a signboard on each one of them saying something like “I am a clown and your lives will be less funnier without me.” But again, we’ll also do them some favor by hanging them still.

I know it’s not a good caption. But hanging seems like tough and a caption like that will serve as something to console them while them hanging lifeless and unfunny in their respective trees. Or something like that. Or again another caption that goes like “It’s okay to hang me but let’s do it later, if you know what I mean. First give me your money so that I can entertain you people further ‘coz I think you are much foolisher than I am. And that’s good ‘coz the foolisher you are the more money I can get from you.”

Anyway, this blog is not really about that. I mean about those foolish women or men, or those clowns in our so-called Philippine politics that I would love to see hanging in a tree with a more appropriate caption to go with it.

This blog is about this woman I should not have been loving now. But I gambled as I always do when it comes to girls who pass as a good substitute for Megan Fox. Well, Megan Fox has those gifts bestowed on her by gods: 99% superhotlegs.

Sigh**

I need some drink. And I have to work. Maybe let's forget about that important something I need to tell you. It's not that important now. Thank you for reading this far, anyway.

Of blogs, friendster and writing

It's been September, gentle readers, and three weeks since my last updates of this blog. Blame me for it. I am a sluggard slinger. But fuck you I write when I feel like it.

That said, I want to thank you for following this far. The thing is I was promoted in my job - from a bad lazy writer to a most unscrupulous editor of the company, and it's been a month now. So you see, I have some reasons here of not writing and more time of emptying bottles of gin in my room, watch bad movies or just read, and not worrying of having headaches the next morning.

So as I said, I find this time now to finally write and silence this little conscience that's been bothering me everytime I remember that I have a blog, or when friends mention about blogs and how nice their new template is and can I leave some comments in their blog, or how about add their accounts in my friendster. You have friendster account, right?

Of course I have a friendster account you freak, I would shout in my head.