multiple accounts

How do you people do it? How can you have 3 or even 6 mobile numbers and remain sane? How do you maintain 4 or more email addresses and be able to cope up with it? How do you update your friendster account as well as your multiply, facebook, myspace and tagged accounts? How oh how did you manage to do it? Please tell me.

The most number of cellphones I have is 2. Even that it's no easy feat for me to carry them both at the same time and be able to reply all SMS messages from both phone. Now that the other phone is broken, it's even harder to maintain 2 SIM cards with just 1 phone. I have to switch between them back and forth. What if a very important SMS, say an orgy invitation, was sent to one SIM while I'm using the other? The idea drives me nuts that I have to switch SIM cards every couple of hours or so. It stressed me out. Getting stressed out because of unknowingly practising celibacy due to completing mountain load of work-related tasks is understandable. But getting stressed out because of plain paranoia is like going to bed with a hot date and not reaching orgasm even after an hour and a half of serious pumping. It pissed you off eternally specially if that counterboy is knocking on the door because your 2-hour short time is up.

One time, I went out to buy dinner for a few friends and relatives but I was only able to contact few because the time I look for their contact number, I got around 6 different combinations to choose from. I'm no psychic to know which number they use so I skipped them and moved to the next contact.

I only maintain 2 email addresses, 2 friendster accounts and I'm planning to delete the other one 'coz I find it quite difficult to juggle between accounts. My multiply account is just there so I can download sound files until multiply disable that feature. I once have a myspace account but I guess it was deleted after months of inactivity. As of now I'm still in deep contemplation of signing up for facebook. Maybe if my friends will start posting their nude beach photos in there then I will sign up in an instant.

The idea of having so many mobile numbers, so many email addresses, so many profile sharing accounts bugged me at times. The way those emos and kawaii poses puzzled my limited imagination. If only by some kind of miraculous stroke my IQ will increase by 10 (62 plus 10, that's 72), I'm sure I will get the insight behind all these.

thank y'all

First of all, thank you. The comments, phone calls, overflowing emails and text messages ALMOST made this emo inside me go away. Some even go further by offering me invitation for a sizzling sexual intercourse in a bath tub. I still have to find me a tub though so I can picture out the scenario laid out to me. Raised hips, one hand under the leg, the other on the tub ledge then put one leg on shoulder while the other is supporting the weight. This is really confusing. Where can I find a tub? Unfortunately, the venue is on the other side of the planet. So I have to graciously decline with a thank you and an afterword of accepting the invitation once I can afford the plane ticket.

Your concern ALMOST made my day. It's like half of what I really needed. After a passionate night of satisfying my carnal desires, I laid down in bed thinking this is the other half of what's missing for the past 2 weeks. Lack of this is what made me a freakin' emo. So there. I'm happy to tell you that I'm fine now and abandoning any kind of suicidal scheme in the near future. Next time I turn emo, I'll no longer want your i-miss-you's and stay-strong. Just fuck the hell out of me then I'll be fine.

Back to regular programming.

For the past few minutes, I've been writing about Bose-Einstein condensates (BEC), superconductivity and absolute zero temperature of minus 459.67 degrees Fahrenheit. All because I got excited after reading an online article in Smithsonian.com released on January of this year regarding the subject. Then I realized, what the heck am I babbling about? Then quickly deleted the rest of the entry before anyone else gets a hint that I'm one of 'em nerds. Damn! I've even come up with a number like minus 459.66666666666666432104321 degrees Fahrenheit as the temperature used by a physicist - a word synonymous with nerd or geek - in Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge to achieve BEC. You know that an experiment used BEC to stop light at a standstill. Imagine that. Okay, I'll quit yapping about this already.

Anyway, let's set aside this topic and spare ourselves with nosebleeds and headaches. But if you want to read the article, click here.

Let's move on instead to meaningful topics like Lindsay Lohan publicly admitting her relationship with another woman, DJ Samantha Ronson. I read her interview online and she seemed to be in-love and behaving like a boring American. Planning to buy a house and settling, and talking about how she wasted all her money with those wild parties. And I thought I'm gonna read about how she likes to be manhandled in bed or her favorite Kama Sutra position.

Geez! Her rehab worked? I guess I won't be seeing raunchy pictures of her anytime soon. A tale of wild girl gone good. So who's next?


p.s.
Sorry, Aneshka and Gwenn, and to all my other physicist friends out there. I never for a nanosecond moment thought to label you as nerds or geeks. My comment above refers to all other physicists except you, guys. You're by far the coolest physicists I know on this planet. I will never meet another person again who can recite the periodic table of elements on one breath.

miss me?

D'yo miss me? I was away from blogosphere for quite a time because of some heavy work pressure. But this time I'm not gonna complain. Nobody will be labeled as bitch today. At least this company can get something out of me aside from warming my Steelcase desk chair for 8 hours while staring at a blank document because I just don't know how to begin with my work. So I'll ask you again. D'yo miss me?

These days I was wondering if there's a single soul out there who misses me aside from my Mom, aunties, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces and neighbors because they always say they missed me so so soooooooooo much every time I called home that sometimes it scared me and made me doubt if I'll take that vacation next year for a trip back to Cebu.

For the third time, d'yo miss me? Please say you do and tell me how much you missed me. I badly needed it now. I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's because of this noisy power supply the kept on staring back at me for 15 hours a day for the last 5 days. It left me feel nauseous once I turned it off and all I could hear is the deafening silence inside the laboratory at eleven o'clock in the evening.

photo courtesy of http://www.jellymuffin.com

No, no, no, no, no. NO!!! I'm not going emo. This is not an emo post. I'm never the emo kind. I grew up during the thrash and glam metal era. Eyeliners, black skinny jeans and a suicidal disposition worn by emos are nothing compared to the wildly teased hair, tighter leather jeans, heavy makeup and debauched lifestyles sported by rockstars during those days. Ozzy will eat 'em emos head off for dinner 'coz he'll think they're made of plastic. Then Gene Simmons, while wagging his tongue, will finish it off by blowing their body to pieces with elaborate pyrotechnics.

Having overly stated my reason for not being an emo, NEVER EVER associate me with one. Well, maybe except for those times when I cried my heart out watching movies like I am Sam and The Notebook, and those extremely rare instances that I got stuck watching Maalaala Mo Kaya because I was too lazy to think of anything else to do and everybody in the house were addicted to it. Damn drama movies. Why does it have to be that heartbreaking?

Once again, this is not an emo post but please...... send me an email or a text message or drop by at the comment box and tell me you missed me or else I'm gonna slash my wrist and watch myself bleed to death while wearing my Chucks and black manicure.

quotes

Famous quotes by drunk friends. They are that memorable that even after years of substance abuse, energy-draining sexcapades, and long exposure to sunlight, they're still embedded in my head. It's just amazing how an intoxicated mind works. I'm beginning to think alcohol is the key to making our brain work 100%.

But seriously people. Don't ever believe you only use 10% of your brain all the time and that the remaining 90% is just sitting there, waiting to be unlocked. Find the explanation in snopes. It says there that we only use 10% of our brain when we're eating or having sex or watching old videos of Peter North banging Asian hotties. That means when I'm having sex while watching old videos of Peter North, I'm actually using 20% of my brain. Whoa!!! I swear I heard myself speaking Aramaic when I'm about to cum. Who knows if I'm eating popcorn while having sex and watching old videos of Peter North at the same time, I'll be able to recite the hexadecimal value of Pi in 50 decimal places. Or discover a prime number 20 million digits long during orgasm.

Anyway, this won't be that amusing to those who were not in the scene when it all happened. I decided to post it here 'coz I'm so paranoid about getting old and suffering some kind of degenerative disease and forgetting all the good, bad and kinky things I did in my life. I'm even saving like crazy so that when I get old I can have enough dough to pay the nurse with the biggest tits to attend to me in the nursing home.

I can't be sure about the year though. Damn! I know it. Dementia will have me first.

/********** begin quote **********/

"I don't wanna be a physicist. My father wants me to be a physicist. I wanna be a chemist."

- T.G. the physicist, circa 2003

"Let's look at the sides of the two coins."

- AU molmol gang member, circa 2006

"The ledge is becoming inviting."

- M.E.A. the ledge dancer, circa 2003

"We're friends. Rule of thumb for friends. Nobody will go home alone and without saying goodbye."

- E.F. the ex-president, circa 2001

"ahahahaha... I miss him. huhuhu"

- R.L-G. the crying-laughing lady, circa 2004

*vomits* "Wuuuuuuu!! Syeeet! My Italian shoes!!!"

- B.H. the French, shoe connoisseur, circa 2003

"Let's maximize the minimum."

- AU molmol gang member, circa 2005

"Hes gay. I'm in love with a gay guy."

- T.G. the physicist, circa 2003

"Don't touch me. Where's my nurse? I want my nurse."

- E.J.H. the wounded, circa 2003

"I want to wash the plates. Let me wash the plates. Why won't you let me wash the plates?"

- C.D.L.R the plate washer, circa 2003

"Why am I like this?" repeat 12 times

- T.G. the physicist, circa 2003

"Why are they like that?" repeat 14 times

- C.D.L.R. the plate washer, circa 2006

"Where are you? You're so cold. You left me all alone."

- M.E.A. the ledge dancer, circa 2004

"Mom, I'm drunk again. Sorry." *sobs*

- T.G. the physicist, circa 2003

"Oh my God! I'm so drunk." *haaaaarrrrk* Spits on the pool.

- M.E.A. the ledge dancer, circa 2006

"Oh Naked, you're so fine

You're so fine you blow my mind

Get Naked! Get Naked!"
- R.L-G. the crying-laughing lady, circa 2003

"I'm not drunk. We're just drinking, you know... water, coke and whatever."

- S.C-D. the cock-bending virgin, circa 2004

/********** end quote **********/

Aaaaah. The good ol' days. It makes me feel nostalgic. *sniff*

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

a shoe case

Now that I'm done releasing all those pent-up hatred inside me, I'm beginning to think clearly. I really shouldn't blame my misfortune on those people who have no other fun in their miserable lives but to spit on unlikely public places. It might be the only sort of satisfaction they achieve in their lifetime. So I promise to let it be and call off my manslaughter plans until further notice.

After 3 glasses of whiskey, I began to think of what really is the issue here. It's not them. It's me! It seems that I have this sort of cruelty hurled at me by Lady Luck. And I don't even know why I offended her on the first place.

Recounting some events, let me take you 3 or 4 years ago. I had a date. We were to watch a movie on that day. I took my date from the apartment. Going to my date's place was a bit tricky. You know how it is in Phil'pines. I trod earth and grass and what not in order to reach the place.

We were already inside the moviehouse and enjoying each others company. No nasty things happened yet if you know what I mean. *wink* There was that smell I noticed a while back that seemed to get amplified inside the moviehouse. A foul smell. Immediately I thought it was my date having some kind of bad odor. Smelly mouth? Armpit? Body odor? I couldn't really figure out. I slowly leaned towards my date to check if the odor was there. There were no traces of foul smell anywhere. I was so sure it was not me. I mean why would I smell in the first place? I brushed my mouth thrice and almost emptied a bottle of mouthwash just for that day then spayed perfume all over my body.

That's when I began to suspect something. I raised my date's attention and we searched our chair for any traces of foul smelling object nearby. Then I told my date to look at the shoes. My date objected but I demanded that she might've stepped into something. Nothing's there. Then I checked my shoes. Pak! Pak! Pak! It's syet! I stepped syet on my way to my date's apartment! How cruel is that? To think that I bought my shoes a month or so ago! I was so ashamed but managed to pull my act together. I tossed the smelly shoe on the side and we continued to watch the movie amid all the ridicules my date threw at me.

(photo courtesy of www.altrec.com)

To further convince you that Lady Luck has a vendetta against me, let us go a bit further, one month since that shameful event happened. I went to work one day wearing the same pair of shoes. On my way to the company's gate I noticed something - a brown smudge on my shoes! Oh no! Not again! Further inspection using sense of smell revealed that, yes, it was syet! Deja vu. Pakin deja vu!

I leave it at those instances because if I have to narrate each and everyone of those unfortunate events I might've created a book.

senseless

I can't work. My brain just won't let me. Who in their sane mind would have the mojo to work on a Monday knowing that Tuesday and Wednesday are non-working days?

That is why I'm blogging like crazy. I even have one post-dated entry. Pshew! I've got piles and piles of workloads to do but my brain went off-mode. I don't even know what a CAN bus is or a Lundell machine or a 3-phase generating voltage and shit like these.

I want to go home and do senseless stuff like, I dunno.... watch porn maybe or play Mario or download Avatar? I want to be anywhere but here. While writing my previous entry, I was reminded to buy another pair of shoes for the office. My old one is already washed out. I've got a long list of things to buy - 26-in Bravia, Quad Core Q9xxx series CPU, a compact laptop, a digicam 'coz as you already knew I left my old one back at home, iPhone, 16GB flash drive and so on and so forth. So many things to buy, so little budget left. *sigh*

Why is the clock ticking so slow? I wish I have Hiro Nakamura's time-bending power so I can just freeze time and do absolutely anything I want. But you know me, I don't want any complications in my life and get entangled with crazy maniacs like Sylar or creepy black men like The Haitian so I might pass the opportunity if ever it comes along. Wait. Maybe I'll rob a bank first then bang Angelina Jolie before giving up my superpower.

Why am I babbling senseless shit?

massacre

I want to let out my frustration so please bear with me. The following paragraphs are not intended for the weak of heart.

Who likes to own a cool Kel-Tec PF-9, 9mm caliber recoil operated locked breech double action only single column magazine semi-automatic pistol with 30 pieces spare of pre-loaded magazines? Or how about a high power FN P90 submachine gun. Even cooler is the 7.62mm GAU-gatling gun. Who likes to own any of these? Raise your right hand so I can tally you in...... Done. If you own any handgun or any weapon of assault raise your left hand...... Good.

Okay. Now that I got the numbers let me laid out the plan. At exactly, 1533 hours this Wednesday, 1.October.2008, we will meet at an undisclosed address. Details will be emailed via secure server with 1024-bit encryption algorithm. A mini-biometrics scanner will be sent to your home address at 1900 hours tonight. It will do a retina scan and voice verification. After a successful authentication, it will display the decryption password for 3 seconds then will self-destruct. You will use this password to view the email.

Target will be specified in that email. Spare no one. Bigger bonus will be given to those who can shoot 'em between the eyes. If you happen to catch anybody within the building premise doing that disgusting spitting, I want you to cut his tongue first then make him drink a bottle of vinegar. After 10 minutes, shoot him between the eyes. If you catch him on the 10th floor or higher, took off all his clothes then drop him down head first. I don't want the clothes to give him any sort of cushion when he lands on the pavement, skull and bones broken with bits of flesh scattered around on a pool of blood.

You see, all I really wanted is to free the world with all those disgusting public spitters as much as I want to free Phil'pines with all those corrupt public officials. You already know the answer. It is next to impossible. That is why I'm taking this to the next level. If there's nobody out there who can do anything about this, even those so-called Elders of the World, then I will gladly step up to the challenge. Why, you ask?

It all started on a peaceful Saturday afternoon. I got hungry and called my other apartment mates to go downstairs and buy lunch. We gleefully chatted inside the elevator. The door opened on the first floor and we headed out. Just as I took my first step, I felt some sort of liquid substance touching on my feet. It couldn't be possible, I thought. Why would it rain inside the elevator? Then I inspect the sole of my left foot. Lo and behold, a sticky, phlegm-filled, yellowish spit was glued between my sole and slippers!!!!! I was disgusted beyond words but since I'm hungry as a wolf and because my motto is to fill my stomach first before anything else, I never thought much about it until after lunch. That is when I planned this whole man-slaughter thing.

After killing all targets in the building, I will pile up the corpse, stand on top, bathe with their blood and let out a Joker-kind of laugh. Maybe I'll skip the bathing part. I'm afraid there would be traces of melamine on their hemoglobin and would get me all sick for the rest of the week.

I've gone through my plans and it's perfect. All that's left to do is to draw that war paint. Let the massacre begin!!!!

(photo courtesy of http://peoplesgeography.com)

bitchin' on a birthday

You know bitchin', right? It's that white powdery thing you put on your dish to make it taste better. It's the same white powdery thing you excessively mix with dog food and feed on the next door noisy *askal that wakes the entire neighborhood up everytime you went home very late from a drinking spree (or a sex spree in some cases). The next day you'll find its carcass lying cold on the street with saliva bubbles on its mouth then say your pretentious regret to the sad owner. "He was a very protective dog. Always there for me when I went home late."

Sometimes bitchin' is called with its equally famous Japanese competitor. Got the pun? If you're still not amused at this point chances are you're an imbecile so better click that 'X' tab on the upper right hand of this window and leave me in peace. Or maybe I'm just a lousy joker. Whatever. This whole punch line just came to my head when I wrote the title and I felt corny(h, interchangeable) today so there yah go. Anyway.....

Work is such a bitch. And nothing's bitcher than waking up very early to attend an early morning training. I've been away from blogosphere due to some work maniacs shoving workloads up my ass every now and then. Then there are those training that start on ungodly hours. Imagine working 12-15 hours a day for the past couple of weeks or so!!!!! Imagine waking up at 6:30 in the morning so you'll be in the training room before 8!!!!! Imagine your senior assigning you some tasks then the project leader called you for another tasks then your manager explained to you some more additional paperworks that you need to do!!!! Imagine that!!!! However, it pays the bills you know so I might as well quit yapping and comply.

Used to be, I love my work very deeply. If she'd been a girl, I would've revered her from her hair strands all the way to her toe nails. Used to be, my ideal job is a disc jock on a famous NYC club. Used to be, I work hard so I can drown myself with weng-wengs, long islands, flaming ferraris, etc. on weekends and travel on nearby islands in the country.

Nowadays, my ideal job is to be part of a travel show crew. Nowadays, I work so I can pay expensive airplane tickets for a vacation to other countries then drown myself with weng-wengs, long islands, flaming ferraris, etc. Nowadays, my brain's too occupied about travel plans. Thailand next month. Hong Kong and Macau on December. Europe or US or NZ next year. Sigh!

Before I while you any further into this useless self-dilusion, let me greet a very good friend and a once special friend a happy happy birthday. Good wishes, hugs and kisses to you. See you soooooon.

I was tempted to put something nice here. A dozen flower perhaps or Ferrero Rocher or a cake. But I saw Wall-E last weekend and for some unknown reason I found him extra-extra adorable, cute even. I wanted to wrap him and send over as a birthday gift but I can't do that. So I'll just post him here instead.



*askal - short for asong kalye. Filipino term for stray dogs or dogs without refined breeding.