Welcoming a Summer of Nerdy Solitude

Well, I missed those years when every summer was two-month worth of mardi gras days. You could spend the summer jumping seamlessly from one fiesta to another. I am not saying I can't go back to spending my mardi gras-type of summer days that way. I can. Just that, I no longer want to do them, choosing a nerdy solitude or sometimes with some of my nerdy mates, on a beach somewhere, enjoying some laughs, drinking anything they want to drink (they chose tequila and Red Horse), gorged on grilled pork, chicken and fish, someone brought spaghetti, and washed the food down with cold coke or a deep glass of cold beer. They swam on the pool, others on the beach. I stayed in the cottage minding my tequila, and thinking of swimming early the next morning.

We talked about the situation in North Africa with Sir Jobs and Lindsay's husband, who just arrived from the Middle East a month back. Lennel called me for a pickup game of beach volleyball. I figured I'm still fairly good at it, especially when fueled by a bottle of tequila and a whole lechon manok. We lost but t'was good fun and we gained new friends.

It's evening, finally. My mates packed up their bags. Some have other commitments or dates that evening. I downed a glass of Red Horse, and poured another one. They asked me if I'm coming. Told them I'll stay a while. I'll probably go in the morning. Are you sure? Yes, I said. I still want to enjoy the view (I wanted to add, I hate to go back to that cancer-filled air in the city, but only said it in my head.) But it's almost pitch black here. There's no view to enjoy this time of the day, you silly. I can see a bit, Luv, if I look harder. Besides, in a few hours, the sun will rise again. Not in 10 hours, darling. Be sure you don't do anything funny here. I am not in a funny mood right now. Don't worry, I said. Okay, folks let's make sure Jonas has enough food and likker. And let's go back to our cancer-filled city. That's Jonas coinage, by the way! Thanks, so you can now read minds and you're also very thoughtful. Thank you. Sir Jobs, please tell the wife not to hit on the gas pedal harder, I want to see you all Monday morning. You, too, they said, almost in unison.

I lighted a fag, and saw them disappearing from my vision.

Around 2AM, the resort was absorbed by silence, except a distant sound of yodeling that didn't belong to the beach's natural symphony, breaking the stillness of the surroundings. It didn't take much long when the body worked up on its own. The brain took command and I remembered this particular girl's smile, which I associated with a song I can't now recall. Met her way back then. Still wore the purity robe that time. My whole body though was screaming for fresh good air of freedom, from all pretensions in the system and the people populating the system like fucking germs. I don't know why she liked me. Maybe the robe of fucking purity has something to do with it, or maybe the germs. Let my thoughts wander around her and those short crazy lustful moments we spent together, till finally succumbed to sleep.

Ever a light sleeper, I woke up at the first stirring of dawn. Lighted a Marlboro, got my camera and took a couple of snapshots.

Cripes, that was my first sunrise in years. Think I should do this more often.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

Your Job is What?

So who's complaining? I've been to 7 different jobs working for different companies, and dealing with different people and characters since I left the University 2 years ago. Yet I still find myself wanting (for what? I mean what?) and not really care to know why. But this dude Sean Aiken just shows the world how to do it the right way. Fuck, indeed, the only true way. Read about it here. The dude's fricking cool!

I Created A New Website & I'll Soon Be Rich

As if this blog is not enough to occupy me, I’ve created a new website that I seriously think I can earn money. Lots of money.

The concept is simple, which was actually influenced by Giacomo Casanova who wrote, or did he quote it from another writer? I am too lazy to know. Anyway, I owe the idea from him who said: “He knows nothing who does not draw profit from what he knows.”

Inspired by that precept, I decided to just apply what I know best, which is writing excellent SEO articles that Google would love, and get rich doing it. So I created this website in less than an hour complete with a cool template and kick-ass introduction (hey, it’s my website, go create yours and show it to me).

Satisfied with what I’ve done, I’ll now wait what will happen next, which I imagine would be lots of fun when all those lazy website owners start coming to me asking for brilliant web content articles, and them rich clients paying me money, lots of money. And I’ll soon have more money in my bank account than I can spend and I’ll be happy and the clients will be happy, too, as their websites will be ranked higher in Google searches, and people will read those awesome shits I wrote for them and they would also be happy, and everybody will be happy.

So that’s that. Also, I write this post not just to show as if I regularly update this blog, but also to quell this gnawing feeling inside me for being lazy, drunk, and quarrelsome. And there seems to be no other remedy than to put down thoughts on a page and execute ideas that have somehow convinced me to be important and profitable. Or so I think.

Drink Like Lord Byron

I confess ignorance on wine. But when I tasted my first slug in the evening, I no longer care about ignorance and just binge instead on my regular dose of this so-called "nectar of inspiration" (cripes that phrase, how did that come to my head?). Yet, crap or not, this remains a real nice substitute when your brain and the people around fail you. Yes, that Lord Byron kind of thing. And right, I just had my deep second shot in a row, and the darkness is slowly creeping inside my room, the water is burning down my throat and it feels damn good. This booze, especially this particular bottle of booze, which was a leftover of my niece’s birthday last weekend, is a great consolation that I look forward to everyday, that is, after a whole day’s toil, when the brain had its share of drain, solving me another day of desolation.

I cannot but thanks God, and thanks to inspiration-filled waters too, which makes a sure argument of the Deity’s existence. But Deist or no, I sure is glad for having such kind of sweet drink to keep me happy and sweet enough reason to feign contentment to pass another day.

So here you good folks you! I’ll drink this drink for you!

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.

I Baked Fruit Salad, No Dammit I Grilled Them

The girlfriend wants to treat my family. After several nights of talking in the phone, discussing about what could be the best treat for the family, we decided on some surprise. My parents, my younger sister, her husband and their 2-year-old baby, Gian, were a bit excited when I told them about the surprise. And that yes, the trip to zoo, or something, came up and rejected as boring. Then, I told them excitedly about a possible demonstration of our cooking skills. The girlfriend’s cooking skill, and my imagined cooking powers.

So that Wednesday, with some money in my pocket, I took a jeepney ride to SM where I would meet Jenny (the said girlfriend), and buy those ingredients for fruit salad. By the time I arrived in SM, all my money was gone. I’s about to pay for the book The Dark Side Of Genius when I noticed that my fucking money was somehow lost. I apologized to the lady in the counter and put the book back in the rack.

The girlfriend looked beautiful in her pink t-shirt and jeans. I told her I lost my money, and she said ‘well, not the first time’. I still don’t know what that means. So we went to pay some bills, bought a cooling pad for our laptop, and to the grocery section for the fruit salad.

I won’t bore you with how I baked those chunked fruits, and grilled the rest of the ingredients in my head, that is, while I was looking at my girlfriend doing all those hard work of preparing the fruit salad. She looked nice and cute while doing so and I’s smothering her, well, again, in my head. And I love her so much.

Well, the surprise was complete when Gian, not too fond of eating almost anything, ate a large serving of the fruit salad, and was still asking for it the next day.

So why I am writing you this, my dear invisible readers? So as you may know that all I did is not just writing about how I look forward to Mel Gibson's Apocalyptic vision to happen, or how your girlfriend's boobs are looking seriously at me, or something to that effect. That I am human too and not just some internet bloke who's not capable of loving the humanity.

Okay, of loving you, dear reader.

And so comes Love

And so comes Love.

She looks cuter than I oftentimes imagined.
Many a lonely night in my room.

Thousands of burned fags,
Hundreds of empty bottles, classic and porn movies;
Pervert and good books and my quarrel with the Internet,
... and I almost give up on Love.

I was about to get my laid that day.
With one of those Sirens on an odyssey
When Aphrodite has so fate it,
Nominating me for something loftier among the gods in the altar of Zeus,
... and changing the course of my days onwards.

And there she stays,
... maybe for a while.
Hoping it could be for eternity...

If Fate so will it too.
Yet again I am but ready to die...'

Lovely Interruptions and the Whatnots of Leaving and Starting Over

I quit my job and it was worth my while.

Tell you frankly, I once liked that former job but got only disappointed of how things turned out as it was. I felt some pangs of qualms, of course, for leaving the place and some good people I worked with, and yet also happy for making the decision.

The days that followed were days of what they called 'a new phase’ of life, specifically, of a solitary one. I spent most of my time reading in my room, and sometimes, when the fancy of jotting down some nagging thoughts, I’d write in my notebook, or watch films, mostly those of Anthony Hopkins and Johnny Depp. That had become a rote for a couple of weeks with some welcoming interruptions when the girlfriend called, or when we dined together and then walked her home, or when Ms. En emailed me to get some money of which I’ve no idea of having.

Some little troubles with solitary occupation are the habit of eating that I sometimes found buggering. I’d need to go out and buy some food. Most days I’d no appetite and ate only when hungry. But I’ve got some good stock of the usual rum, gin, whisky, brandy, Chinese wine – of all them cheap booze, of course, and sometimes beers and cola, and a bounty of cheap nescafe that I find satisfying in fixing myself with the coffeemaker which was given to me as gift by the girlfriend.

A day would fly fast and it would soon be sundown when I am almost over with a book, or sometimes finished two in a day. I was rather catching fast with my reading, giving myself a quota of two piles that I put on top of the TV where I can easily see them with authors such as E. L. Doctorow, F. Sionel Jose, Ralf Ellison, Nick Joaquin, Bernard Malamud, Sinclair Lewis, Norman Mailer, Frank McCourt, Dreiser, Joan Didion, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Friedrich Nietzhie, Dostoevsky and Orwell, among others. Well, let’s just say I love to read and so fuck what you think.



The occupation of reading, of course, would make me react in them that would stirred the violent reactionist in me, making me reach for a pencil and papers and scribbled the impressions. Most of the time, I just read and think a lot. Meanwhile, the depleting stock of the wine would made me think of the inevitable trouble of landing a job again, supplied with the lavish encouragement of the girlfriend. I need to work again dammit to support meself, pay some rent and buy me some drinks. And so no matter how I digress, I cannot but to concede. Gosh, why can't one just die of occupying himself of what he loves most?

That brings me to the present: this first weekend of my new job. From editor to this so-called Advertising Specialist (or whatever the fuck it means) of yet another International Corporate Business. The excitement of the new job, new environment and working with new people trumps my desire to postpone doing a “real work” (as mother called it) and live in yet some days of pleasurable solitude.

YOUR CATCHY TITLE here _______________!

I am back and I've missed you. No, not you you gay.

Wasn't blogging for almost a week 'coz well the Aldeguer Group of Companies, in which I work as a copywriter, is having this Summer Sports Fest. They asked me to play in one of their basketball teams.

Yes, I play basketball, you idiot. I play it so that people would think I'm manly enough and change their opinion. If only basketball is less physical, I would have extra energy and time to update my blogs and do some other things.

After our team beat other companies like USA Sports, MA Holdings and Loalde black and blue to boot, I feel great and think of nothing else but basketball and some nice sleep at intervals. Our only waterloo was playing against Island Souvenirs Company with their big guys and well some ladylike ballers whose business were cheering the loudest, fucking freaking us, while pinching players' butts and shouting YOHOHUHH! Those bitches.

Anyway, our next opponent will be against ALA Gym Boxers & Co [shudders] few minutes from now for the semi-final match.

I would have been the happiest player in the team, if only I have not these broken bones, a black eye and a cut in my left brow, some concussion and this funny pain around my pelvis – dammit!



Promise I'll not do this again.



Oh NO000oo' Dooo0n't... I'll kiiil yoh bitch!



I'm going home to mother. You'l see..



My right leg gets funny sometimes..'



I tell you I can make it this time... FUUHCKK YOHUUU!


* * * * *


Crushed broken bones hurt, suck and end careers. When your mother says drink your milk, drink it you fucking imbecile. But, well, if you're one of us awesome guys, [here's a salute comrade] things like these are routine like when our service is needed to help a damsel-in-distress in some Island or save the world from queer invasions...wait now..

...[cRracKs*!fuck$'!*#! realligning of bones]

...

[3 minutes later]

It took that long for my body to heal itself after tapping it's mutant healing powers.

[A masculine shout at the background: Hey gays lets go!] It's not for me sluthead.

And so, since my teammates just called me now to gear up for our next game against the ALA Boxers' team, let me leave these words, the one I spoke when I was the Wolverine: “I'm the best there is at what I do, but what I do isn't very nice.” Also, you are so gay.

THE GREATEST FUCKED-UP LOVE STORY EVER TOLD

I got a call from National Bookstore and decided to go the next day. My piece won in a writing contest organized by The Philippine Star Newspaper. I'd get P5K for it. But that afternoon some sleep was necessary.

After filing some works the next day, I claimed the prize that took rather longer because the NBS Cebu Manager couldn't make up her mind if PhilHealth ID should have picture on it or not. Funny. PhilHealth IDs have always been that way, since time immemorial. When I challenged her opinion of things, complete with divine profanities and the usual finger routine, we finally came up with an agreement.

But that was not the story all about. The story began when I started taking out books from the shelves and putting them in a basket when I noticed a young woman. She was looking at the cover of a book or maybe reading the blurb. As I approached nearer, I smelt a whiff of her perfume, made a quick glance at her, then to her book. It was Sydney Sheldon's Master Of The Game.

“Would you mind if I buy that book for you?”

“Uh, oh.”

“I'm serious.”

“Okay. You maybe rich but you surely is stupid.”

“No. I am poor and smart.”

“Oh, that's me.”

“Maybe we both are. Now, listen. I want to pay for that book. That's Sheldon's best. I'd read it when I was 10.”

“Okay. I'll let you. But you promise, you won't get my number and asked me out for coffee or watch a movie or something.”

“I will not.”

“Then, you really is stupid.”


[Chapter One]