I have
never, for the life of me, imagined my loins throbbing for somebody more than
five years my junior. Other than the fact that consummating such desire is
illegal, I have never found girls that young attractive.
however, after reading Jason Mulgrew’s tirade on how the shock that comes with realizing
that the aforementioned girls have grown into lustworthy sex kittens has driven
him into the brink of stabbing his penis with a fork; and after seeing first
hand, how my brother’s own female friends have err…“grown” in more aspects than
one, I am now asking myself some serious questions that come from the depths of
my very being:
1. Are
you really that desperate?
2. Are
you doing this because your last dates with women your age didn’t work out?
3. Speaking
of dates that didn’t work out, aren’t you going to ask that Kat girl for the
2,300 pesos you spent on her for your last date back? I mean come on, that’s a
lot of money to throw around for someone who wouldn’t even let you kiss her.
4. Oh
wait, it wasn’t 2,300 pesos, it’s actually 4,300
pesos. If you count that 2,000 pesos you spent for that hotel room you didn’t
even use.
5. Does
the 1,200 pesos you spent on that prostitute you picked up on Tomas Morato to
take her place count?
my brother celebrated his birthday last Sunday and in attendance were some
really foxy chicks. I couldn’t even believe that these were the same little
girls who used to call me ‘Kuya Mike’ three years ago; the same girls I hoisted
on my shoulders while helping them practice for a cheerleading routine; the
same girls I pulled a peeping Tom on while they peed in our bathroom. I mean
fuck! They have really, REALLY grown.
of behavior therapy technique called “Toilet water psychotherapy”. They
would grab me by the hair and dunk my head into a toilet bowl for two
minutes, and as my head was briefly yanked up for air, they would begin
foretelling the not so distant future. “In the near future, you can
send letters using the computer; look at naked ladies in the computer
and even write a diary on the computer; how neat is that? Also, you will come across a guy named Bill Davis,
who is like maybe an awesome religious guy who’d save your damned soul
Michael.” My mom used to say between my heavy gasps for air. “Your mom
is right son. She always is.” My dad would affirm as I flail my arms
around violently trying to free myself from his grasp and this insane
ritual.
This harsh treatment was my parents’ response to a
stage I was going through where I simply refused to stop insisting that
I wasn’t merely a socially deficient grade school student but rather an
elite salesman from the future hired to sell something called a ‘Blog’.
I didn’t know what the fuck a ‘Blog’ was but I vaguely recall fantasies
I used to have involving me being employed with a company in a yet
undiscovered planet somewhere near Pluto. My dad often tries to snap me
out of this personality by asking me questions he assumed I could not
possibly answer like “How marketable is this ‘Blog’ thing you’re
talking about? What practical use does it have? Have you been rummaging
through my box of sex toys again?” He always believed that he was the
smartest thing in the world ever since that time he was watching Battle
of the Brains with me and my mom and he was able to successfully guess,
four out of five times, David Celdran’s first name. Asshole.
Now, twelve years later, my parents have foregone the idea of confining
me into a mental institution and are pretty much freaked out that I AM,
as a matter of fact, calling up strangers in distant lands using a
gadget called a telephone that transmits my voice over a strange thing
called ‘The Internet’, and selling them a mysterious thing called a
‘Blog.’
In those twelve years, two names stuck to my head:
The first was Mark Saracanlao, who was this guy who stuck his penis in
my ear when we were in High School in spite of my vehement protests.
Okay I didn’t really protest. And I paid him like two hundred pesos or
something; no, I think I actually paid him three hundred pesos but not without asking him for a blowjob. That’s the toothiest fucking blowjob I ever had that’s for sure.
The
other one is Bill Davis. Now who is this Bill Davis character whose
ambling into my meek existence has been prophesized by my mom countless
times?
It is with utter dismay that I announce to you today
that I have, in fact, found Bill Davis and he is not the man I have
come to expect. For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed
that our meeting would be grandiose; something along the lines of a
McDonald’s kiddie party (Outer space theme!); Bill wearing a fluffy
pink tutu and me arriving on a limousine, wearing very unflattering
white leotards. We will both feel compelled to say something but deep
inside we both know that if we did, it will ruin this magical moment we
have waited for all our lives. Instead, I will give him a subtle nod
and point to my crotch after which, he’d fellate me furiously while
humming ‘twinkle, twinkle little stars’. We will then proceed to eat McFlurry off each other’s mouths. Really awesome shit.
Alas,
life has this way of sneaking up on you and kicking you in the ass when
you least expect it. The way I found Bill was nothing close to what I
had originally envisioned. I found Bill through an email he sent to my
colleague Pete’s wife and he
wasn’t the deus ex machina my mom made me believe him to be through her
numerous divinations. He was actually a very sick, lonely American who
preys on unsuspecting Asian girls. Although this is the case, I do not
feel any morsel of anger towards him. It’s kinda like that feeling when
you’re younger and you think that your parents are the most immutably
good beings in the world until that one night you walk in on them
having sex on a countertop in the kitchen.
Traumatically
awkward I know, but I don’t hate my parents for it, pretty much the
same way I don’t hate Bill Davis; in fact, being the sex and
relationship expert that I am, I feel that it behooves me to actually
help him out by tweaking this rather lame letter he sends around
through Friendster and MySpace. So Bill, my friend, I hope you read
this. (My comments in bold italics)
I spent the weekend hanging out with a bunch of my college friends
and thanks to one of them who has a four year old daughter, I came to
the realization of how much I dread having my own children in the
future. Kids are pains in the ass and I think most, if not all guys
my age are daunted by the mere thought of having to raise one.
But I also realize
that having to face the ordeal of raising a kid is inevitable, I mean
unless I’m sterile (Which I have proven I’m not), or I get myself
into a really horrible accident involving a hyena biting off my dick
or something, I submit that there will come a time when my
hyperactive, hankering sperm cells will find an egg they could sink
their silly little heads into.
I’m sure it isn’t
THAT bad. I’m positive that there is an iota of fun involved in
having a kid and fucking him up so bad he’d wish he’d never been
born. I mean after all, it’s nice to have someone I can send to get
groceries and purposefully coerce to live through all the ambitions
that I, his father, failed to realize in his youth. I imagine having
this sort of conversation with my kid:
Son: “Dad,
I’m shifting to Nursing, I figured out that helping people in need is
something I really want to do.”
Me: [Playing
a video game, eating potato chips off my tummy] “What kind of
fairy are you? Let me ask you something, whose dick are you going to
suck when you become part of the growing number of the unemployed or
underemployed?”
Son: “…”
Me: [nodding]
“That’s right, MINE.”
Son: “But
I just couldn’t see myself sitting in front of the computer all day
writing codes in stupid programming languages, laughing every once in
a while at a funny e-mail and generally being a dork!”
Me: “John
James Miguel Dominador Villar, I’ll watch my mouth if i were you…”
Son: “but…”
Me: “Don’t
make me hit your mother.”
So you see, I’ll make a good father. In fact, I’d be so good that I’d
be the type who’d rather play an epic Online RPG where I can
repeatedly kill creatures to fanatically gain levels while both my
social and family life severely atrophy and my children are taken
away by welfare because of utter neglect.
Seriously though, I wouldn’t want my future kid to become a pussy.
Actually, I am very determined to prevent that from happening that
this early, I have decided to come up with a timetable of events and
honors I want my kid to achieve. And speaking as an avant-garde
proponent of stupid jokes in bullet points I present this timetable:
One
of my more popular articles this month is a post entitled ‘A Love
letter to the Sunlife Promo girl’ which has , as you may have
noticed by now, been deleted from the database. I have been receiving a
lot of emails regarding the aforementioned post and I am not, in any
way, going to deny writing it or even ameliorate nor defend my actions.
Admittedly, I have made some very inappropriate references and innuendos which were offensive, uncalled for and inconsiderate.
With
that said, I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to Jen and
everyone else who may have been hurt by my writing. All these were
inadvertent on my part, I can honestly say that.
Here’s an update with regards to my
recent withdrawal from that nocuous vice men gleefully refer to as
pornography. I have spent the last two days purging my life of all
forms of pornography and anything that reminds me of it. Yesterday, I
spent hours combing through my 80 Gigabyte hard drive deleting
hundreds if not thousands of Video clips, sound files and assorted
pictures of my naked self that have proliferated in my computer for
the past three or four years. I came across some really hilarious
filenames in the process such as:
Jay_Manalo_Sunshine_Cruz_Near_LRT.mpg
Bangbus_Monica_Long_high.mpg
Bangbus_Black_man_doing_German_girl.mpg
Bangbus_goes_to_Mexico.mpg
Moms_Anal_Adventure.mpg
FarmAnimalsMating.mp3
FatGirlMoaningwhileCleaningToilet.mp3
I’d like to stress that undergoing this
cleansing process is not easy and as with most addictions, abruptly
putting a stop to it results in some sort of withdrawal syndrome. I
don’t know if anyone can relate to this but in protest to the
discontinued sensual stimulation induced by porn, my body reacts by:
Vomiting, muscular tremors, profuse sweating, indigestion,
constipation, the urge to throw rocks at passing cars, and death.
Well not really death but something really close to it.
Also, as a corollary to giving up porn,
I also must stop flogging my dolphin, choking my chicken, slapping my
monkey or in layman’s terms–masturbating. Now this might be tougher
than giving up porn but I have to be strong. Sure it takes a lot of
effort for me not to touch myself like I was so accustomed to after
taking a bath, before going to sleep and before eating but it is
imperative that I make this sacrifice if I were to achieve the
spiritual pureness I am longing for.
For me, the key to eliminating my
craving for pornography and masturbation is taking up an activity
that will distract me enough to kill my evil urges. I realized that
the reason why I resort to such detestable activities is that I have
nothing else better to do. So over the course of two days, I have
taken up the following activities:
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
