recall

Don’t you just hate it when you think of something great and grand, and all of a sudden got interrupted. Then after recomposing yourself, you just can’t get back to what you were thinking a while ago. It’s so fucking annoying, right? And it fucking happened to me yesterday evening. I was just brushing my teeth when an extraordinary idea perched on my head. I planned to write it down so that during my free time I can read and marvel at how great my ideas were. When I went inside my room I got distracted with my potential sex partners of the day emailed by an adult website. After browsing the profile of each one of them, I wanted to get back to that great idea I was thinking before that email. And I just can’t fucking recall. I only knew it was a great idea because I only think of great ideas. Never the mediocre and petty ones. Don’t believe me? Okay, I’ll give you an example…. Sex is great…. See? Only great ideas from me!

What if at that time I was thinking about the solution to the global financial meltdown. Or how McCain can overturn Obama’s lead in the polls within 72 hours. Or how to pump up viewership on Pushing Daisies so ABC won’t have to sack it. Or maybe the correct formula to reusable condoms and tampons. Then it could earn me millions of dollars and I’ll be living like a rock star. Parties here and there. Parties up and down. And more parties everywhere.

Of course, I will be traveling a lot coz I’ll be partying in different places around the globe each week. Tahiti and Bora-Bora this week then off to Ibiza the next and maybe a day or two stopover at the Caribbean, say, Dominican Republic, to check out the club scene.

Long queues at the airport would not be a problem because I’ll be traveling in my private Lear jet with my personal French chef and a hot redhead masseuse aboard.

I came back to harsh reality when I opened my blog and saw a comment on one of my entries. I know for a fact that there are only around 4 or 5 people reading all these nonsense I wrote here. It troubled me at times but I had come to terms with that. Now I’m more troubled by online advertisements on the comments section offering home loans and big cocks. Hate comments I can take but irritating online agents, most of which are just network bots created by jerks who have no significant things to do in their life other than watching porn videos, can drive me insane. You don’t want me to get insane. I ran amok wearing nothing but a laurel leaf on top of my right ear and a Bench t-back when I’m insane. You don’t want to see horrible things like that. Trust me.

To the jerk who authored network bots. Dude, go out and have friends. I know you have a total of 11,793 friends on your Friendster, MySpace, Facebook and Multiply accounts but for fuck’s sake go get some real friends. One that you can hang out with a bottle of beer on a lonely Saturday night. Attend orgies or go to farmhouses for a taste of real bestiality. Stop downloading those disgusting videos and jacking off for 2 hours straight. And please stop creating network bots for online ads. Get a life!

new and confirmed

Y'all should see me today. I look so damn cool with my new tucked in long sleeves polo shirt and spanking new dress shoes. Mama couldn't be any prouder if she'll saw me like this. For once, I looked like a man who has achieved something in his life and not like my usual jeans-and-shirt bum look paired with a disturbing attitude of a sex maniac who is about to do it right there and then. Thanks to my project manager who required us to dress up today for our director's boss visit to our laboratory. Then we can go and pretend we're a bunch of cool folks that would wear tucked in long sleeves while measuring 450 amperes of current on a rotating motor.

The packing problem is I can't seem to move comfortably with these on. It just complicates things much on a very simple task such as scratching my balls for one. With jeans and shirt:

1) Put hands inside jeans

2) Scrath itchy ball/s

3) Smell hand

4) Go back to eating finger licking good Doritos or Cheese-o while answering boss's emails

Now with all these formal attire:

1) Go to bathroom

2) Untuck shirt

3) Zip down pants

4) Scratch itchy ball/s

5) Smell hand

6) Take some time to admire sex organ

7) Tuck shirt back in

8) Zip up pants

9) Fix shirt in front of mirror

10) Wash hands

11) Go back to typing how cool I look today

It doesn't help that I need to do this every hour or so.

In a world of Six Sigma or in layman's term, procedures on how to become obssessively and compulsively efficient paranoids, this is not packing acceptable. I can't wait till the day ends so I can get out of this pretension.

On a related note, I got my confirmation letter a couple of days ago. That means after 6 months of doing nothing but sitting in front of the monitor and moving the up-down-right-left keyboard as fast as I can so everybody will hear how busy I am, my boss finally decided to make me a regular fixture in the company premises. Now I don't have to worry about browsing porn sites in a maximized window and downloading Naruto Shippuuden all day long.

p.s.

Blog erratum. Gene Kelly's movie is "Singin' in the Rain" and NOT "Dancing in the Rain" as mentioned in my entry below. Thanks to the Constantly Dramatic One for the reminder.

sour mood

I don't know why I'm so friggin' happy today and it's a Monday for crying out loud. I walked on corridors and hallways wearing a stupid smile and I can't help it. What could I've eaten yesterday to make me so joyfully silly today?

On Mondays I'm supposed to be in my You-better-watch-out-coz-I'm-gonna-strangle-you,-pull-your-fingernails-with-long-nose-pliers,-and-disembowel-you mood. The kind of temper when Hannibal Lecter is planning to take you away, open your skull and cook your brain in front of you while you're still conscious. But right now, it's just so wrong. I can't keep my mouth from smiling.

We've got tons of tasks to do for our project delivery next month but I'm feeling so irritably cheerful, it freaked me out. My project manager has been pestering me like a housefly to a shit-smeared ass but I remained so damn felicitous. A while ago, I looked out at the window. It's been raining cats and dogs outside and all I can think of is putting on a suit, grabbing an umbrella, running straight to that lamp post and doing that Gene Kelly's Dancing in the Rain number. This is really weird. What the hell is wrong with me?!? I can't go on like this any longer. Can somebody please come to my desk and slap me hard on my face or give me a good clean uppercut and make my nose bleed!?! I want my sour mood back.

answers

If you're still flexing your brains for the past 72 hours trying to figure out the answers to the questions I handed out to you, better put down that bulky encyclopedia (Is this still being used?) and lend me your ears... Oh, in our case, your eyes will do. I have the answers here, freshly squeezed and printed, and I'll give it to you for free.

Why is the sky blue?
It's just the way it is. It's like asking why the sea is salty and sugar sweet? Why are they named stars and not glitters? Or stones not hardones? Or vajayers instead of flowers? That's the way of the world and you can't question that. Just imagine if the sky is green? Or violet? Or orange? It will surely be something less than a sight for sore eyes. So it must be blue.

Where does love come from?
Hypothalamus. So stop blaming your heart (poor organ) for all the misery you've been into. Instead bang your head on the wall until you get dizzy and come into your own senses.

Why does the sea look light blue-green when shallow and dark blue when deep?
I haven't browsed the answer for this one yet but who cares? I'd rather read news about somebody chopping somebody else's body and dumping it around the city than researching about colors and the sea.

Is Michael Jackson really white?
Of course, he is white. Are you blind? Maybe he's even blond and just dyed his hair black. But yes, he is white. That little black boy with a cool afro who captured the imagination of the entire world when he sang "ABC" and "I'll Be There" among others with four of his male siblings was a different Michael. I'm really not sure what happened to him. Maybe he got too famous and in early 1980's decided to become a hermit and shut himself to the entire world in Neverland. The other Michael Jackson we knew today is a white man, is not a child molester and only has one plastic surgery in his entire life. Period.

What is energy? Did Mariah Carey discover it with her album in 2007?
Who else could have discovered mass-energy equivalence? It couldn't be somebody old with a wrinkly face and had like 27 strands of white hair sitting on his balding head. It must've been by somebody who can hit the highest octave with a belch, somebody who was "emancipated" around 3 years ago and not by a German who had early speech difficulties. Come to think of it. E=MC²... MC²... MC... Mariah Carey... Emancipation... Can it be any more obvious than that?

Go forth and spread this news. You are now 5 questions smarter than anybody else. Tell your grandpa. Tell your fictional friends. Tell it even to your pet dog.

questions

When I'm not sitting my brown ass in front of the computer monitor watching barely legal videos illegally streamed over the net, or when going around the city looking for someone to screw for free, or calling random numbers over the phone and offering erotic or sensual massage service for 50 pesos is becoming boring, I would be alone in my room sitting on the floor in a lotus position and helping mankind answer the most difficult of questions. This is deep.

More than 500 years in the modern era and we have already sorted some of those questions pondered a lot by ancient nerds under an olive tree. Questions like

Why is the sky blue?

Where does love come from?

Why does the sea look light blue-green when shallow and dark blue when deep?

Is Michael Jackson really white?

What is energy? Does Mariah Carey discover it with her album in 2007?

However as we progress through we've been picking up a few questions along the way. Then a lot of great thinkers in our time would have something to think about during their coffee break or when they're alone in their room sitting on the floor in a lotus position and staring intently on the computer monitor while the Best of Jenna Jameson and Asia Carrera is played full screen. Questions like

Who can map the behavioral pattern of the female human being?

Who made the rules to use passive voice and past participle when writing a test report?

Why does Hugh Hefner, at 82 years old, have 3 girlfriends? (Or was it 2 after Holly Madison left?)

Why do we need sleep?

Why does Incredible Hulk's pants remain fitted around his waist when he shrink from hulk-size to ordinary man-size? And for curiosity's sake, how big is he packing down there when he's in hulk-size? (NEWS FLASH: Captain America has a cameo appearance in the Hulk DVD. Watch out for it.)

Why do some people have no idea they smell bad, like I-rather-kill-myself-than-smell-your-armpit-for-10-minutes bad?

What would Britney Spears do next?

And the age-old question. Was it the chicken or the egg?

Listen to me people, we have a lot of serious things to think about here than plummeting stocks, rising unemployment rate and the possibility of losing jobs.

Now, you have to excuse me for a minute. I need to wipe my face from excessive nose bleeding. You just go ahead and contemplate it for a while, okay? And maybe you need to do that lotus position thing.

childhood poem

A lot of you may have grown up with prudent and conservative people where anything related to sex and profanity is taboo. Well, that's exactly the opposite of me. I grew up with people who can spew 50 curses in one breath. Take our next door neighbor of old, Nang Maria, for example. Like everyone else's she had a teenage daughter who knew nothing at that time but go to parties and come home late at night wasted. One day, her daughter asked if she can go out with her friends. Somehow, Nang Maria's already full of it when suddenly she yelled on top of her voice "Lakaw gyud karong gabhiona, di ba magdagan unya ka padungs gawas nga walay ulo, koleraha ka!!!" Usually it's followed by a string of profanity that somehow amused the entire neighborhood.

Translation: Try going out tonight then you will be running out of this house beheaded.

If I am late for lunch or dinner, which usually happens a lot of times, then my mom would ask one of my aunties where the hell I was and all of a sudden I appeared out of nowhere all sweaty from an extended game of dakop-dakop or tago-tago (Translation: catch me if you can or hide and seek). My auntie would retort to something of this effect, "Diara ang inatay ay. Singot na pod kaayo. Asa na pod kaha ni nagkiat-kiat."

Translation: Here's that devil. All sweaty. Where in hell could have he been?

Remember those times when it was so fun to run around the house specially with your friends and then knock out something like flower vases or books in the shelf. Usually I would get this kind of scolding, "Pisti gyud ninyo uy! Panggawas mo didto, mga animala mo!"

Translation: Damn you all. Get out of here, you animals.

That is home to me. Looking back at it right now, I wouldn't want it to be any other way. Believe me there's more to my childhood than these obscenities. In fact, childhood for me is synonymous with swimming in Banakod (a semi-islet a stone's throw away from home in Bogo) every afternoon and stealing sinagwelas or tambis during nighttime. It was all fun.

I had a very vivid memory of one night, when I was 4 or 5 years old, where I sit at Tito Bari's lap outside the house. With all his patience, he taught me my first ever poem that was forever etched in my memory. He's looking a bit suspicious but I didn't know it at that time. Every time he would say the last word of the poem, he would whisper it on my ear. After memorizing, he took me back to the house then announced to everybody that I'm gonna recite something. He perched me up on a table in our living room with all my aunties and uncles, mom included, eagerly awaited for my number. Then with all the volume my immature vocal cords can muster, I recited this poem in iambic heptameter.

Ako si Leon Kilat nagalatay kos dagat
Kung inyo kong masugat, hutdon ko kamog kayat

Translation:
My name's Leon Kilat, I walk on seas
If ever our paths crossed, you all I'm gonna fuck

This is followed by different reactions of amusement and awe with a round of applause.

If I may say so boldly, I have the best childhood I can ever ask for.

more

Sometimes beautiful things happen and you don't know what you did or said to deserve it.

I don't know what to say 'coz I know a simple 'Thank You' is not enough. But I'll say it anyway. THANK YOU. And I wish I could say more than that. I'm really surprised to receive this.

You know how much I adore this girl. How many sperm cells I wasted just for her. She's the same girl I talked about a year ago that I absolutely go crazy about. It is good enough that she's front cover of Playboy Philippines but what made it better is that this is a September issue. My birth month. Awesome! Now I need to go and find that lube.

jacking

How many jacking do you know? For me there's hijacking, carjacking, jacking up, jacking down, jacking off and the famous jacking jill. (I'm good at making lousy pun for a joke. But whatever.)

Beware of this new jacking in town. It's called clickjacking. Coming from me, it's not a new fetish or something kinky or immoral. I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. This has no sexual connotation whatsoever. It's something we aaaall should be afraid of!!! *shiver* This is something related to that piece of hardware you are staring at right now!!! Yes. This is something about your computer and the internet!!! Let's call it a computer virus for a lack of better term.

The announcement of this newly found flaw in the computing world came early this week by a geek working in a geek company. Our oh so beloved web browsers, including the new Google Chrome, as well as Adobe's Flash are all vulnerable to this. You might think twice before browsing your favorite porn site for your daily dose of voyeurism.

It's so hard to explain in the layman"est" terms but let me just try. Hackers can manipulate this flaw so that by simply browsing and clicking on webpages in the internet, you unknowingly let those hackers access your microphone and webcam. Then they can see you chatting on-line wearing a pink tutu while scratching your balls because of that tight spandex you wore underneath. Or hear you doing that nasty cybersex with a hot asian bombshell, which actually is a 49-year old, 4'9 tall, 150-lb fugly hag that works as a swindler on Colon Street on her day job.

Here is the news for a better understanding of this crisis we, cyberfreaks, are facing right now. And I thought world economy is the only problem we should be worrying about.

Clickjacking news here.

smasher trouble

(photo courtesy of http://plausiblefutures.wordpress.com/)

It is reported that some poor soldering job had caused the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) to malfunction. After all the hoopla during its launching last month, they even have that famous Youtube parody about geeks rapping it up for this piece of science. Having the world's most brilliant scientists and they couldn't even got the soldering correct. As they say, 1 fault out of the particle collider's 10,000 connections is not bad. But it costs them some precious time.

If you're not as geeky as I am, or if you don't know anything about CERN or haven't read Dan Brown's Angels and Demons, listen here. Open your Internet Explorer or Mozilla Firefox or Opera or Apple Safari, you know what I mean, then type 'CERN' and hit enter. Then you'll have the slightest idea what kind of animal I'm talking about here.

I'm initially kinda excited about this largest particle accelerator in the world or, as CERN puts it, "world's largest and most complex scientific instrument". Think about exposing the secrets of the cosmos, about the endless possiblities of scientific discoveries. Who knows in the near future we might have a condom as thin as gas you wouldn't notice it was there. Then we'll have all the physicists in CERN to thank for.

*sigh* I'm thinking about shifting careers now and maybe move to Geneva.

I know you're not interested with news like this so pardon my interruption and for bothering you from watching your favorite noon-time show.

you too

These guys are like phenomenal. They've been in the airwaves long before I learned how to masturbate. Before CDs, DVDs and BlueRay Discs, they're already in the mainstream of clunky cassette tapes and vinyl records. I'm not sure about the latter though.

Yes, I'm talking about no other than Bono, The Edge, Adam Clayton and Dik Evans collectively known as U2. Adored by millions all over the world, this group from Dublin, Ireland has been a big part of the music history and I bet my 5,000-peso life savings that their songs will remain for centuries to come.

It is not just Bono's impassioned vocals that made me reverred the group, it is also his passion for humanitarian affairs. Being a rockstar, a Nobel Peace prize nominee, a philantropist, a geopolitical activist (whatever that means) and dodging screaming fans (girls and boys alike) all at the same time is no easy feat.

I'm writing about U2 or Bono, in particular, because I happen to read his speech 4 years ago - 19th of May 2004 to be exact - at the commencement exercises in University of Pennsylvania. You know how I love people who can dish out socio-political issues with a splash of humor on a football stadium. He's just awesome. He got this wild, obscene - if you must - persona with a deep grasp about global issues that I can so relate. And he's doing something major about it.

I wonder why I haven't got hold of this piece of writing 4 years ago???...... Oh syet! Now I remember. 4 years ago I was in a self-delusion of daydreams and wishful thinking. I was in a world of ...... oh, never mind.

Here is the speech. It's a bit long but if you're a true-blooded U2 fanatic or a U2 groupie, and can wet your underwear out of sheer pleasure while listening to their songs, then I'm sure you wouldn't mind.

(photo courtesy of www.pulsemed.org/picture-of-hair-style.htm)

/******************************/

/******************************

Because We Can, We Must

by Bono

My name is Bono and I am a rock star. Don't get me too excited because I use four letter words when I get excited. I'd just like to say to the parents, your children are safe, your country is safe, the FCC has taught me a lesson and the only four letter word I'm going to use today is P-E-N-N. Come to think of it 'Bono' is a four-letter word. The whole business of obscenity--I don't think there's anything certainly more unseemly than the sight of a rock star in academic robes. It's a bit like when people put their King Charles spaniels in little tartan sweats and hats. It's not natural, and it doesn't make the dog any smarter.

It's true we were here before with U2 and I would like to thank them for giving me a great life, as well as you. I've got a great rock and roll band that normally stand in the back when I'm talking to thousands of people in a football stadium and they were here with me, I think it was seven years ago. Actually then I was with some other sartorial problems. I was wearing a mirror-ball suit at the time and I emerged from a forty-foot high revolving lemon. It was sort of a cross between a space ship, a disco and a plastic fruit.

I guess it was at that point when your Trustees decided to give me their highest honor. Doctor of Laws, wow! I know it's an honor, and it really is an honor, but are you sure? Doctor of Law, all I can think about is the laws I've broken. Laws of nature, laws of physics, laws of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and on a memorable night in the late seventies, I think it was Newton's law of motion...sickness. No, it's true, my resume reads like a rap sheet. I have to come clean; I've broken a lot of laws, and the ones I haven't I've certainly thought about. I have sinned in thought, word, and deed. God forgive me. Actually God forgave me, but why would you? I'm here getting a doctorate, getting respectable, getting in the good graces of the powers that be, I hope it sends you students a powerful message: Crime does pay.

Read the rest of his speech here.

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mr. clean is dead

This is already around 3-days old news but in case you still don't know and if you're crazy with detergent bars as you are with the whole green earth movement then you might want to read the rest of the story.

from http://www.reuters.com/

TV's "Mr. Clean" dies at age 92

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - The actor who played muscular "Mr. Clean" in hundreds of dirt-busting television commercials in the late 1950s and early 1960s, has died in Los Angeles at the age of 92, his family said.

House Peters Jr.'s bald-head, hoop earring and brawny arms was the original public face of Proctor & Gamble's household cleaners with the jingle "Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean." He died of pneumonia on Wednesday, his family said.

Born into an acting family, House Peters Jr. started his career in silent movies and later made a name for himself with character parts, often as the muscled villain, in dozens of TV and movie westerns including "Wagon Train", "Gunsmoke" and "The Lone Ranger."

He won a Golden Boot award in 2000 for his lifetime contribution to the western genre.

Peters Jr. retired from acting in the late 1960s after filming his last episode of "Lassie" on television, in which he had a recurring role as Sheriff Jim Billings.

(Reporting by Jill Serjeant)

letter of repentance

Dear Lady Luck,

I am writing to ask your forgiveness.

Never again will I desecrate your name or put it in the same context with revenge, violence and gore with a flare of repugnance like sticky phlegm-filled yellowish spit. I am so sorry to have offended you. It is not in my pure intent to do so.

Please spare me your retribution. Do not make my toothbrush come to life again, slip out of my hand then do a reverse one and a half somersaults with three twists dive straight to the toilet bowl. I just bought that 6 days ago and I can't afford to change toothbrush every week or I'll go bankrupt. And also, do not make my contact lens storage container do the same diving somersault to the toilet bowl. They are supposed to remain dirt-free so I can store my contact lens without contamination.

I hope you're satisfied to know that I was so freaked out when the whole event happened one after the other. It freaked me out even more that I have to fish them out of the yellowish-brown toilet bowl using my bare hands.

To affirm my resolution, I promise to delete all porn-related materials on my hard disk specially those of dogs and horses doing blonde chiks, and cute brunettes eating fresh feces. But I will keep those of Angelina Jolie's and Brad Pitt's if that's okay with you. I will personally find you a virgin - I have lots of premium membership on adult friend finders - and offer her carcass on your altar to appease your anger.

Forgive your lowly servant.

splat