Nisha was
oblivious. She was busy digging through her purse for coins. But I wasn’t.
bagger at the checkout counter was filching covert glances at her chest as he
crams cans and cans of beer into those yellow plastic bags. As we dawdled
around the grocery store tonight grabbing all sorts of party stuff, I had a
grand time watching other men’s rather cagey glances. I observe them spot her
from across the aisle and then momentarily stop what they were doing to gawk at
her. I watched with glee as their wives or girlfriends notice them looking and
then follow their partner’s eyes to Nisha who was looking too cute without her
even knowing it. It actually feels kind of odd to be this distant to watch all
of this happen. I mean ordinarily I wouldn’t notice them at all because I’d
probably be one of the guys gawking.
strolled one aisle going to the checkout counter earlier, an old bat almost
dropped a big jar of mayonnaise as he was so distracted by her. I shit you not.
All of these may sound funny to you but this is probably the most accurate way
I could describe this girl, this Nisha Solomon. She’s the sort of hottie that would make you fumble jars of mayonnaise on
the condiments aisle in the grocery.
hauling two heaping plastic bags of assorted cans of beer as we leave the
store. Ordinarily, I would’ve been fine with a couple of cans of Red Horse but
she looks pretty much decided on getting piss drunk hence the bottles of Cuervo
gold and Absolut Kurant. “Nixie, I still don’t see why even half of this purchase would not suffice
to send us into a coma.” I told her as we walk across the parking lot to her
car; the rain has let up but the night remained considerably drizzly. She was
holding an umbrella over my head, and I wish she wouldn’t do stuff like that
because she’s so cute when she does.
not going to go drinking by ourselves silly, we’re going to a house party!” She
said leaning in closer, whispering the last bit.
Nixie! I smell worse than Persian food! And while you find my gym clothes sexy,
I’m sure not everybody would share the same sentiments, especially not in a
fucking party!” I said hyperventilating and getting all sweaty. I’m like this
when I get anxious and stuff.
say your entire outfit was sexy Mike; I said your boxers were.” She said
activating the keyless entry thing of her Mazda. The car beeps twice in
agreement.
Women are so manipulative…
Before I begin today’s update I just want to thank Astig Mama for featuring my site on Blog Gems. Her write-up
made me cream my pants and now I’m wondering when I’ll start having
groupies. Thanks again. Now I have to stop masturbating my ego and
proceed with the update.
was in my freshman year of college in UERM, I had this problem
justifying the cost of cab rides. For me, it was a difficult concept to
grasp, you see, paying someone by the kilometer to drive you a distance
you could cover on foot in half an hour. Not that I had a choice back
then considering I live in the boondocks somewhere between Caloocan and
Fairview and the only way I could get to school in time was to ride a
bus to Philcoa and get myself a cab from there to Sta. Mesa where the
University of the East med school was. But, the entire cab ride deal
still came off insane for me. Thousands of cab rides later though, I
came to an understanding that it’s not the mileage per se that you are
paying for; you’re shelling out money for the overall experience.
On the average, I spend around 80 pesos ($1.45 based on current rates)
on cab fare and what I failed to realize when I was younger was that
for 80 bucks, I got to ride around the metro with a total psychopath
who tailgates, weaves in and out of oncoming traffic, runs red lights,
all of these while yelling inventive cuss words at other drivers.
He might share with you his story on how he successfully drove their
multi-million peso family business to bankruptcy or his stint as a
construction worker in some Middle Eastern country or how he used to be
a macho dancer.
Commonwealth intersected and waited for an empty cab. I hate rush hour;
and the people who take cabs during rush hour; I mean they should be
more considerate of people like me who have more important matters to
attend to than getting home like they were.
My car windows were open and Chino Moreno’s voice is blaring through the stereo. Shove it! Shove it! Shove it! Shaaaaaaarwrrrrrrr! My dad reeked of tequila and is in a coma riding shotgun beside me.
I’m doing 120kph on Regalado
yet my road kill count remains at zero so far and I intend to keep it
that way. One thing you should know about my dad is that hitting any
animal with the car, whether it’s a cute fuzzy cat, a stray dog or a
venomous snake – it’s going to cast a dreary shadow for the rest of the
night and I can’t have that considering he’s already piss drunk and I
need all his smooth talk to work its magic on the cops.
I’ve
seen it happen before; we were cruising down South Luzon Express way on
our way to Tagaytay when I felt something go under one of the car’s
tires. Strangely enough, when I looked in the rearview mirror I
realized it was a dog. How the hell did it get there? ‘You killed it!’ my dad shrieked in horror. ‘That
poor dog! She was probably on her way home to her little dog family and
now she can never go home again. The decent thing to do is get off the
next exit and go back and give the poor thing a proper burial.’ My
dad has a really twisted idea of how ideal vacations should go. After
all, nothing beats spending two hours under the scorching sun burying
an animal carcass in a shallow grave along the expressway using only a
spoon and a tire wrench as makeshift shovels. Genius runs in the family
you see.
I
pulled into the parking lot of the ramshackle structure of a police
station and seeing that my dad is still lulled in his befuddled state I
decided to leave him alone for the time being and see how my brother
was doing. The desk officer on duty was a feisty looking female. She’s
wearing the standard issue blue uniform and a small silver chain with a
pendant around her neck. Her shoulder-length black hair was parted and
pulled back neatly from her face revealing her forehead. She’s cute…
I
remember having a friend who was the picture of cool in all situations. Catch
him in a lie, run him into a serial killer, accuse him of sleeping with your
mom, and he’d just sit there with the same bleary smirk that could always be
interpreted in a couple million ways.
there’s a word for that—Imperturbable.
call around
recent emancipation from corporate slavery like I was, you tend not to
appreciate calls at this ungodly hour. I was squinting, my eyes trying to
adjust to the incredibly bright screen of my phone:
17 year old brother. And he has always been the harbinger of bad news for as
long as I can remember. I held the phone to my ear.
about to break down into a sob anytime.
you manage to get yourself into this time you stupid fuck?” I said preempting
him.
I didn’t do anything, Rocky got into a fight with this frat boy and Chester and
I were just trying to get them to stop but the cops brought us in too. I’m in Precinct
5 near
please come now, they’re threatening to throw us in the can! I don’t want to
get thrown in that shit hole!” he said finally letting out a small sob.
sheep-lord” I said in the rough English translation and I apologize to you
readers for that. You see, at times when I’m under duress, pressure or in this
case, extremely surprised; stupid flakey cusses have a tendency to fly out of
my mouth at breakneck speeds. I probably should keep a list because they can
really be hilarious. I remember a time when I stubbed my toe really hard on a
door frame and “Mother-shit-big-mouse-pussy-burger” was the first expletive to
come out. I don’t have the slightest idea as to what that means but at that
time I’m sure it translated to “Holy fuck that hurts like hell!”
So I guess I’m not ‘imperturbable’ like my friend. Au contraire, the weird indescribable
look on my face could probably be interpreted in three different ways, all of which
would be absolutely correct: How many people did you end up murdering? How many
Kilos of heroine were caught on you? Shit you have to get mad at him or
something! Wipe that stupid look on your face Mike and calm the fuck down.
Eastwood
is such a nice place to work in. The pruned trees, the quaint brick
walk and a main street lined with modest buildings that host a bulk of
the country’s best IT companies. The Cyberpark they call it. Watching
the Mediterranean inspired architecture of the city walk as I drive
through, I can almost imagine people walking out of a circa 1920s
grocery store carrying brown paper bags filled with fruits or a lanky
kid selling newspapers on the corner.
Of
course, there’s the ubiquitous McDonald’s with its typically ugly red
and yellow nightmarish color pattern and hulking golden arches.But even
that can easily be forgiven. Really. This is still a beautiful place to
work in and I can’t believe I’m driving to work here for the last time.
I decided to shake off my pitiful, pining sentimentality, for now at
least, and focus on getting a parking slot.
“Mike, would you be still my friend if I had three eyes, facial hair, genital herpes and a Jewish husband?” Maffy
says nudging me with an elbow.I’ve been friends with her long enough to
know that when she comes up with these daft scenarios she’s after one
of two things.It’s either she’s making an attempt at being funny or
she’s trying to irritate you to a point where you’d want Adolf Hitler
to stir from his grave, give away free beer and have another go at
genocide.More often than, not she succeeds in achieving the latter.I
don’t know if it’s just me, but I honestly don’t get the kind of dry
humor these Am-girls have.
“I
can stop the motor that turns the world. Oh yes I can.”I learned
through time that responding with something that’s totally unrelated to
what Maffy is asking throws her completely off balance and puts her in
line…
Mike "Fucking" Villar
"a Manila-based blogger made famous by his Atrocities of Friendster series, a regular feature he publishes on his blog where he mercilessly criticizes and mocks pictures of ugly people he stumbles upon on popular social networking site, Friendster. Although a lot of people are offended by what he writes, long-time readers of his blog regard him as a brilliant satire writer."
-Taken from my WikiBios page
