I Am an Edited Title

Now you may once recall that time when I wrote about how we should defend our women in the country from the likes of Alec Baldwin, who if you may also remember once threatened our young women to his filthy grasp, saying indifferently in a worldwide television how he would mail-order your cute sister, girlfriend, or that hot chic neighbor when his dirty fancy inspires him. Yes, that bastard, and how I reacted to his retarded shenanigans and how I used my detective skillz to stop his devious designs and defending our respectable Filipino women. But how can you defend your women when there are those who are sadly dollar-eyed, and simply want to have them in exchange of dignity and respect, ambitioning to taste the said easy life of a mail-ordered wife, and what's worst uses God as an excuse of procuring one. Those exactly make good reasons to digress.

[Blogger's note: The title and content were edited, and a good portion of this post was deleted for various reasons, which you can surely speculate on your own. Or whatever. Also there's that blue and funny Turn to Pro today! again. Cripes.]

An Open Letter to Union Bank Philippines

Dear Union Bank Philippines,

The last time I wrote an open letter I’s livid with an ex-girlfriend. But I made it sound like fun though, which is not cool ‘coz when that last time I sounded off fun and livid, many people in Neverland died, with their tongues gnashed between their teeth. Okay, you get the picture.

See it’s not good when I sit down to write one of those letters. And it’s for you Union Blank Philippines!

Right, I'm a pissed off consumer. And friends have known me as a very evil man to get pissed off with.

I know you sometimes suck, get fucked up and all that, YawnYawn Bank Philippines. But you've something many of us internet writers need: an EON card. So I cannot but have to take the trouble to know whether you really suck or not. And besides, I no longer have any money left except my savings on PayPal. So, you see, I went to your branch in SM Cebu almost a month ago. I actually waited for my turn to speak with your representative who sat indifferently on his chair, and talk to me as if he owns the bank. I presented him with the requirements, filled up the form, and again waited for your representative to tell me that everything is in order, and that I now have to wait for some days to get the card.

And told me he did. But not after taxing my patience because he seemed to have more important matters to attend to, a chitchat with officemates, talking about their lunch or something, show how gay he is in the office or something. But I forgive him for that. I need the EON card. He told me to get the card after three weeks. He passed me a paper with a landline number, the bank landline number: (032) 232-0680. Call us after three weeks, he said.

Said weeks expired…

I called you. After four rings, the now familiar voice answered and I asked him if the EON card is available for pick up. But fucking retardity ensues,

“You say you applied three weeks ago, and your name again?” Said (let’s just call him) GayTard.

“It’s Jonas Perida, Sir (GayTard). P-E-R-I-D-A…”

“Okay. A moment please... Your card is not available yet, Mr. Perida. You can call us back anytime this week.”

“What do you mean? Can you be more specific, Sir (GayTard)? Is there any problem with my requirements or something?”

“I can't answer you that. Just call us again tomorrow if you like.”

So the next day, I called you back, OnYawn Blank Philippines. And that the same fucking retarded conversation with the GayTard reissued. Then after a weekend, another representative listened to my concern yet still no definite answer. And it’s simply killing me because it happened many times too many, and then for cripessakes some more in the following days.

With my budget dwindling nicely, my lividness grows intensely. So don’t blame me for my uncool habits to fight off damned shenanigans and fucktardity. Or as how you’ve treated me, and probably many others like me.

Yet again, these are bad economic times. And I get it too. So I am giving you some more time to work things out between us, your poor consumer/s, and you fucking Union Bank Philippines you!

Will call you again later (I’m talking to you, Sir GayTard). And may probably blog the progress of this shit.

Wishing you now more success, Union Bank Philippines!

Lividly yours,

Jonas

Going Hiatus & Green (A Crappy Precarious Bloke's Note)

After some crappy hiatus involving me, the girlfriend, and her angry (ang-gay) client over some “Going Green” article I’d wrote last week, I am now back to what I really love doing: blogging another fucked-up day of my life. That crappy yet simple hiatus has the potency to become serious – a crazy blown-up-kind-of-serious – which again comprises of me and the girlfriend walking the thin line of b.r.e.a.k.a.g.e. Though I really hate to admit that but the way things are – no good mind can help it where it now leads.

So what’s this all about? You may ask. It was really very simple: a client looks for a writer to write about “going green” (or is it “going gay”?) copy for his website. I am the available writer and the most needful of money (still am). So I just decided to do it. I informed the girlfriend, who was out-of-town that time attending a wedding. She said okay and added with a caveat that I better be careful with that client as he has the reputation to be difficult to please and fondness to break a writer’s heart whose article doesn't particularly make him happy. I didn’t grasp the full meaning of the warning. And I have a good reputation to ignore anybody’s warning too. But that’s another story for next blog.

Yet I found out later.

Groggy as I was that morning, I ignored the caveat and proceeded to work (I can’t work well anyway with anyone threatening me with hell and damnation if I pissed one of them off with my writings).

I read the instructions minutely for several times. I got little from it which proved to be a bad omen. There were only the given title, News-and-Society category, suggested conversational tone, and the client’s website. I clicked his site and found out what I need (or thought found out everything I need) before I wrote his article. So the rest of the day was spent reading other existing articles about the topic, researching further, and finally got some rest.

After a light lunch and coffee, I started writing the first draft. Complete with the right perspective, structure, content, voice, and a cute ending (wish I can publish it here and boast on my cute ending. But the salamagan has already paid for that article though bad as he thought it was). I rewrote it, played basketball with bystanders, won 20 pesos from the game, went back to my room, rewrote it again, and sent the cutie away to the beasts.

One week or so later, the girlfriend called me. The client has emailed and I can read the message myself thru her email. The client was fuming angry. His choice words are designed to cut like daggers that go:

“Just to tell you that your article was the worst I have ever seen... Not sure if English is your first language but judging from the number of errors I\'d guess not.”

Well, there was more but they were again kind of mean. So I just stop there. But again I fucking digress!

Of course, English is not my first language for crissakes! I learned my Hebrew when I was 8. Mastered Greek in kindergarten, and my parents had decided that English was kind of cool too and so I better learned it together with Latin. But it was only later when a couple of friends showed me those Sidney Sheldon novels that I seriously trying to learn the English language. And I discovered D.H. Lawrence, Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Sinclair Lewis, and fucking DOB, among others, for myself.

But the hiatus did not end there. The girlfriend had panicked. She valued her clients too and I was doing my best to scare them away. So she decided to just scrap me off from her team of writers. Which is the best thing to do, I think. So the die is now cast.

But she seemed very consoling. As our telephone conversation went:

GF: ... so what’s your plan?

Me: Ummm, what plan? (I was planning to just get drunk that night).

GF: Well, what will you do next? I mean, if you really care for my opinion, I will be very happy to see you back teaching again in college. Or try to apply other jobs aside from writing. I can accompany you in your job interviews if you like.

What the..., I mean fuck. I can’t believe she said that. She was like telling me why not stop from punishing yourself further and drink this arsenic for your own good. I mean if someone (the only person you care about in the world, only she’s not) stop believing in you and said things like that, the effect would be the same. Okay fuck it, and so I just replied,

Me: Okay I hear you completely. Thanks for the offer. First off, I am finished teaching with college students (the picture of young innocent virgins just cross my head, makes me beam and tremble). Let’s stop this (the thought of a bottle of rum that I hide somewhere crosses my head). I know what I am doing and I don’t think you understand me anyway. So let’s just cut this conversation. I still have important things to do before I sleep (like getting drunk for cripessakes!)

GF: Like getting what?

Me: I mean you need some rest, right? It’s almost 12 midnight. Good night then..’

I put down the phone, tried to find that bottle (thanks God, when all things fail, something is there for you), and started thinking for my future prospects, which was easy ‘coz I’ve none for the moment. Except, of course, live as I am.

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 Rant of Salamander (or Whiled Peace Got Lawsuit Threat, OMZHSFG!)

Blogger’s note:

I consulted my editor (my self) and we agreed on the same opinion that some parts of this particular entry are drunk-talk and should be deleted.

I said to my self, hey self, you see, it’s all drunk-talk right?

Self said, undoubtedly, genius.

Gee, you really can talk. Thanks for saying that, I said to self. So what do you think, should we delete it?

Sensible idea.

-----

So with that, here’s the new version minus the drunk-talk.

[Originally written as indicated above the title and revised this 14th day of March.]


WTF! I forgot I have a blog, on its way to awesomeness perhaps, for some days at least. You see I was busy beating this and that deadline, some interviews, consuming book quota, Marlboros, brandy in my room, and all that sort of things. Keep me quite occupied.

And now what have we here!? Seems like fragments of my biography is now being written in progress by somebody in utmost hatred and storming details to boot complete with sexual perversions, threatening lawsuits, whatnots, and, ummm, physical abuse, ehh!? You can’t mean that, right, cause it’s porn, right? Oh, c’mon!

But the good thing is, you had something steam out. Well, I think and believe that must be a good thing. Quite good thing but not really.

Salamander rant on pride and insecurity as incriminated by a commentor:

Tell you straight: there’s always that element of pride as well as insecurity in all of us making this so-called great civilization of ours possible. I am both proud and insecure, so what? You know history? Now try to imagine our great Filipino heroes like Rizal and Ninoy minus the said pride and insecurity, or Dennis Trillio (you are crazy with Dennis Trillo, right?), or Jesus himself? You get the picture? Or else, you just made me suspect you are from Mars or your teachers have taught you everything but rubbish all these years, or you are an entity from the I, Robot.

More ranting:

Now let me quote you:

What do you think I should react after reading that blog? Don’t you think ill congratulate you for that hormonal imbalance you have?

Well, this is fucking sexual perversion to the nth level. And I am totally freaked out. Of course, we had not yet technically broke up when I had that said “hormonal imbalance” and I was no longer in my best of mood to have them all wasted inside you. You understand?

Still ranting:

Though it would take a whole course of linguistics to comprehend what you really mean in the later part of your comment, but anyway, I already developed a sixth sense to understand what you want to say.. So by deducing from your arguments, I come to this conclusion that you still found yourself wanting. So here’s the thing: I’ll give you more then but it would of course take me some dozen bottles of booze to allow myself to do that.

Now speaking of booze let me slug for you a couple shots of this brandy. Wait...
Now that’s better. Where was I?

Ah, yes, on that something on your wanting more. Well why not till I have my 30-day-drunk routine and that would be the best time you can have your heart’s desire even the half of my fwucking kingdowm. Or the head of John Rambo on a silver platter. Shit, that comes off bit biblical. Now where was I really... I neeed my fffpuwking paracetamol...

As I said, we’d been for 7 years together Lynmunchkins and for cripessakes I am too lazy to keep track of things or at least a list of things you’d blowed out on me and things I’d blowed out for you, time and all.

That said, let’s just put it this way (slow and easy and a bit whirly): in a relationship you invest something that we all called ‘a present’ or ‘a gift’. It is an act of goodwill that something which naturally flows out from us because we love the person, or supposedly love the person, without expecting anything. That is why we all called it a present or gift – freely given, right? And the one who did just that is the much better, divine person for doing such sublime thing.

However, if you say something to the contrary you are simply betraying, poisoning, corrupting its pure meaning, making your supposedly act of goodwill an act of fakery-phony-shallow-empty-gesture act of goodwill, and you just made babyjesus cry. Jesus might have liked to drink with me right now in my room. So here's a shot to sad Jesus.

NOW SpWeaking of an aCTt of gooOOOWIILll, let Me FEWVOOR yUO WIth anOWHTHER 7 quiWK SlugsZZ from this BUTTottle – a GAWd prosubstitute for dawwwt fouwwwnnt of wissssdom, ewwwpiffffhany, Jjjoooooy, shhhhittttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WAZ DA FUWCK MY HANDZ IZ DRUNK IT NOT WANT TO BEZ SEPARATED FROOM HEZ GLAASSS IT HIZS GLAAASS AND TEZ WONT LET GOO FRROM EACHH OWTHER..HEY HANDS LETS RAYT SOME MOOR RANTING OKEY??

WAT DA FUCK MAY HANZ IZ SOOO FWUCKING DRINKZ!


_____________


[BWTF! Again? My hands won’t allow the revision but only on some parts they so hate with a passion. Then so be it.]