Face it, every relationship has its own set of ups and downs, trials and tribulations. Most of the time, these petty, bad-tempered quarrels can be resolved by simply sitting down and talking to your significant other in a calm, level-headed manner that doesn’t involve bashing your girlfriend’s head with a vintage vase then driving around town, running over random homeless people to blow off some steam.
What you have to realize is that most squabbles often result from failing to realize that men and women have distinct differences. For one, men have penises and girls, on the other hand have some sort of foul-smelling organ which resembles a black, gaping manhole.
Now, we understand that realizing these differences can be difficult, that’s why we are providing you with a few simple guidelines to help you learn how to avoid petty squabbles and maintain a loving relationship that revolves around deceit and how to put up a facade that aims to delude your significant other into believing that you’re not half as demented as you really are.
It doesn’t matter whether or not the reason why you’re arguing is your fault—DON’T ADMIT IT. This is a clear sign of weakness and women can smell weakness. They simply will never pass up on the opportunity to constantly bring it up throughout the argument and shall lead to your swift and painful defeat. If you suffer from bouts of panic attacks like I do and use it to justify your actively hostile demeanor, she’ll never let you live it down. The next time you get into an argument, she’ll just go “Oh right, that’s something I’d expect somebody suffering from panic attacks would say” or “Whatever panic boy, why don’t you just tell your brain to produce more serotonin or something HAHA!”
If you find yourself in a bind where losing an argument is imminent, challenge your significant other to a fist fight where the victor is declared to be “right” and the loser is regarded as “wrong-ass motherfucker with the bleeding nose.” Unless you are a paraplegic or just plain gay, the chances of you winning a fist fight against a girl are pretty high. And when you do win, claim your prize by demanding your girlfriend or wife to take a shower and get ready for “sexing time”. All women are pretty much sore losers so nevermind their histrionics and just pretend you’re not hearing them sobbing in the shower.
Most if not all of your girlfriend or wife’s skewed, antiquated beliefs as far as how relationships should go came from their parents. Oftentimes, a girl would use her parents as a benchmark for certain aspects of your relationship: “Why can’t we be just like my mom and dad? They have a perfect relationship.” or “Why can’t you be more like my dad?”
You can rectify this by building a wall between your partner and her parents. Ideally, you can do this by forcing her to choose you over them. Use force if necessary. Liberally drop sarcastic comments that would show her just how totally uncool being a mama’s girl or daddy’s girl is. Say stuff like “Oh I bet YOUR MOMMY told you that guys shouldn’t come home drunk and beat up their women. WRONG!” or “I’m sorry if YOUR DADDY said that I should stop having sex with other women. Also, I’m sorry that your daddy’s gay.”
I'm feeling a little under the weather today so I'm going to keep this update short. I don't know what the hell happened yesterday but I'm thinking it has something to do with being rained on and Greenwich's Big Time meal C (or kanin baboy as I so passionately refer to it) not sitting well; but I woke up this morning with a slight fever and the feeling that a killer whale skull fucked the hell out of my head. </work-related excuse
So yeah, I skipped work and did what I thought was best to alleviate what I supposed was the beginningof a terrible flu which is to pop two Biogesics, drink three liters of Coke and lie down on the couch beating off to random lingerie models I see on Fashion TV. Big mistake.
By 11am, not only was I down with a flu but was also suffering from the most explosive case of diarrhea ever. It was so bad in fact that there was a point where I just lay there in a fetal position while I catch poop spurting out my ass with my hand, throwing it on the wall and (occasionally) eating it.
Being the big pussy that I am, the fact that my mom left me to attend to our family business didn't help either. I need her to be with me when I'm sick; you know, to give me a sponge bath and scratch my underarms until I fall asleep and shit.
I popped two diatabs and managed to sleep for three hours and the strange thing was when I woke up, the fever and the diarrhea were gone; all what's left was the headache and a burning sensation I feel on my penis (because of the shaving lotion. You know for the lingerie models. It was the only thing I could find. Fuck you.)
Anyway, since my head still hurts like fuck, I asked my brother to drive me to Shangri-La EDSA to have my books signed by David Sedaris. I got to the venue just in time to catch David in the middle of reading one of his essays. After reading Me Talk Pretty One Day, I've always thought that David had this really nastly lisp when he talks but to my surprise, his speech was pretty much okay. (He kinda sounds like Carson Cresley, only more boring but okay nonetheless)
I waited for my turn to get my books signed and randomly switched from making fun of other people and checking out chicks waiting in the crowd with me(No luck on the chicks part. All I saw were like fat chicks wearing glasses and like weird Goth chicks who hiss and spit at you when you get too close to them). Finally it was my turn. I went through this before in my head and I wanted to say something really funny to David when it was my turn to have my books signed. I was thinking of something like giving him an autographed business card and saying something to the effect of "David, from one gay superstar to another–Here's my card" or I'm gonna give him my camera and ask him to take my picture or just go with the battle tested "My blog gets 4,000 page views a day, let's go to my place so I could take a picture of you wearing my clothes and stuff"
Didn't happen. The guy was an absolute motormouth. He didn't even let me sneak in a single cute punchline:
David: (As I approached the table) Well Hello sir! (licking his lips, slightly sticking his tongue out which honestly made me feel a little uncomfortable)
Me: (Handing over my books) Hey man (trying to sound cool), they wanted me to write what I want you to write on my book when you sign it but whatever man, just write something really cheesy.
David: (already signing my books) Like?
Me: I don't know, "No to abortion?", "Read to lead?", "Save the rainforest?", "To the blogging superstar?"
David: "Blogging superstar?" You know, I've heard the word "Blogging" before, but what is it exactly?
Me: Well it's kinda like an online diary…
David: You see, that's one thing I never understood, the Internet. I think I've only been "online" four times my entire life. By the way, did you grow up in the States?
Me: (confused) No, why?
David: Your accent.
Me: Well I did spend two years stealing American Jobs. You know, answering phone calls and helping the great people of America find telephone numbers and giving them driving directions.
David: (laughs) I see. Where do you live?
Me: A place called fairview which is about an hour away from here.
David: An hour?! How will you get home?
Me: um, drive?
David: YOU HAVE A CAR!? (slides me over the books he signed)
Me: Yeah. (offended for some reason) Okay, Thanks a lot David, it's a real blast meeting you man (offers hand)
David: [shakes hand] No really, you have a car? How old are you? Oh God this is awful! (referring to his bowl of Ice Monster)
Me: Yeah. 24. [Walking away]
Good times. But wait till you read what he wrote on my books:
On his book Barrel Fever, He wrote "Bawal ang umihi dito. -David"
On Me Talk Pretty One Day, He wrote "We'll always have Jollibee. -David"
On Dress your family in corduroy and denim, He wrote "I'm glad you're still alive. -David"
Good times.
It’s been a while since I posted personal shit in this blog. The reason for me putting blogging here in abeyance is that most of the little time I have left from working more than 9 hours for my company is spent compensating for the utter laziness the other editors over at the Man Blog are exhibiting.
Don’t get me wrong, I think that The Man Blog is the single greatest blog in town and I totafuckingly love everybody who contributes to it (in a purely heterosexual way of course) but guys: Do you think we can fucking write more? An article a week like we all agreed on when we first started the site? I mean, I don’t have a problem covering for your asses once in a while but guys, you have to understand that I am just a man! I am not the literary dynamo you think I am. I run out of things to write about too you know! And when that happens, I plagiarize stuff from Something Awful and it’s only a matter of time before I get called on it.
Also, like I said earlier, I have a job to which I devote more than 9 hours of work a day. I love my job, I love the people I work with and the fact that I keep seeing that really hot curly guy who hosts TEXTTUBE at the office next door. With that said, I’d like to say for the record that I will never, I say again, NEVER, even think of misallocating company time by posting to my, nay, ANY blog during work hours.
(HR people, if you’re reading this, I’d like to remind you that my contract expires on the 1st of August and I was wondering if I could renew it for another year. I kind of need the money. Also, ever since I became a celebrity the 16 grand a month you give me cannot cope up with my lavish lifestyle anymore. So you know, it would be awesome if you could throw in a raise in there too. That is all. )
Anyway, what is up with Mike “Fucking” Villar? Well let’s start off with the non-computer related stuff I’m engaged in. Remember when I told you that I joined a totafuckingly rocking band and we met this big time record producer in a bar then he offered us a record contract and like free sex with his underage… Wait, that didn’t happen! Man, I’ve been writing so much lies in this blog that sometimes I couldn’t even remember what lie I told before; you know, to at least have continuity in my stories. What? And you’re perfect? Fuck you.
So yeah, although at first I had qualms with regards to singing for a thrash metal band, I’m proud to announce that things are starting to tighten up. I realized that my voice sounds pretty good singing trash shit as long as I scream my fucking head off and I have maximum echo coming out of the amp my microphone’s connected to.
As of the moment, we covered the shit out of Metallica’s three best albums (Ride the lightning, Kill ‘em all, and Master of puppets thank you very much) as well as a couple of Sabbath and Pantera songs. I don’t want to get stuck with covers though and I’m planning to write way softer compositions for us to play.
The problem with this is that except for myself, my band has zero musical IQ. The songwriting process revolves entirely around me and although I’m an okay songwriter (moment of humility, please don’t spoil), I need feedback from everybody especially in terms of what guitar riff would go best with what mood the song I write is trying to evoke.
This is a major problem considering the different musical influences each of us have. JL, my best friend and our bassist, is into rap metal and post-grunge shit; Leslie and James, our guitarist and drummer respectively are both into trash and stoner rock; and I am into the mellower stuff—actually way mellower stuff like Boyz II Men, Brian McKnight and Destiny’s child.
You could only imagine how difficult it is to consolidate our ideas and turn them into songs:
Me: So yeah check this out [plays and sings a song I wrote]: “Used to pray for one reprise, but now I fear your misleading eyes…”
JL: Dude, too soft. We need to Rockify it somehow.
Leslie: I agree man. Why don’t we start off with this? [Plays a really stupid beat that reminds me of cheerleading contests]
Me: [Quite happy that everybody’s putting their two cents worth on my song] Yeah we could try that out, I actually think I need to rock this a key lower. I originally wrote this to be sung by a girl you see.
JL/Leslie: [both murmur in agreement]
James: You know what would totally rock ass? Why don’t we put some sort of spoken shit just after my solo?
Me: [pleased] That could work! Especially since the entire twist of the song is that it’s being read off a letter written by somebody who died…
James: I’m actually thinking of quoting something from The Bible dude.
Everyone else: …
James: You know something from the book of Revelations. That’s some really scary shit. Or maybe a passage from the book of Moses…
Me: You mean Exodus? [Thinking of a way to let him down gently or basically tell him how his idea sucks salty balls] Well, what I have in mind is for this song to be a power ballad, but if you can establish some sort of connection between reading biblical passages and the mood of the song, then I’m all ears.
James: Well you see, your song is about lost love right? And there was a lot of love lost between the Jews and God during the time of Moses right? Besides, Moses liberated the slaves man! And isn’t that like why we’re playing? To liberate minds?
Me: I don’t know dude, I think that’s a little too much for this song, why don’t we try that on one of our heavier…
James: Liberate your mind man, LIBERARTE YOUR MIND! [does that stupid rock symbol. With his thumb.]
Me: It’s not that I don’t like the idea, it’s just that…
James: You’re no Moses dude. You’re not even a fucking Abraham!
Everyone else: [stifling chuckles]
Me: What has that got to do with—
James: Liberate your mind man! And maybe THEN you could be fucking Moses.
Me: I want beer. You want some beer dude? Anybody else want beer?
I know you’re like “WTF MIKE! Cut the musicel shit and get to the funnies already! You stupet wannabe pozer lol!!1” But come on! This is the only non geek stuff I could be proud of right now. I’m just so excited to see how all of this would turn out that sometimes my excitement oozes forth in the form of urine on my underpants. So you know, don’t be jealous, start your own band or something instead of raining on my awesome parade.
–
For those of you who just tuned in and only now realized how awesome this blog is, I’ve been suffering from bouts of panic attacks. For a few months, I’ve sought medical treatment for my condition and have only recently broken off my relationship with my shrink.
It’s not that I don’t think the treatment’s doing me any good. Au contraire, I feel that the treatment has helped me a lot in terms of both coping with my anxiety disorder and understanding it. The thing is, psychiatric treatment costs a lot of money and I don’t earn enough to continually seek it. I realized that I’m too poor to pay 2,000 pesos to see my shrink twice a month. </violins
Actually, I’m now spending my 2 grand on alternative treatment(read: getting massages from my “girlfriend” in Majestic Monumento) so all’s good.
The problem is, recently, I’ve been experiencing extreme mood swings and I find myself crying over the littlest of things. Earlier today, my brother and I were planning to watch Nacho Libre but we ended up totally missing it and settling for stupid Pirates of the Caribbean no thanks to the fucking PlayStation. Was pirates good? Hell fucking no. Am I gonna masturbate to Keira Knightley with the aid of an empty cola bottle later? Most likely. Bottom line is that I’m bummed out for missing Nacho Libre.
Anyway, suffering from Jack Black deficiency, I popped in School of Rock in the DVD player. The movie was a moderately funny movie but the strange thing is that during the funniest scenes, I got all upset and started crying. What the fuck’s up with this? Is this even normal?
I seriously think that all I’m just craving for female companionship. I mean REAL companionship and not the ones you pay thousands of pesos a single ejaculation for. I need to start dating again but even this is a challenge considering that I am in the IT industry and we all know how women in the IT industry look like.
So, the problem really is that I’m not meeting enough women. And this is where you could help me out. If you know anybody with questionably low morals and self esteem maybe you can hook me up. Send over a picture, contact details and a summary of her criminal record (if any) to god @ man-blog dot com. That is all, thank you.
–
If you ask me what my inspiration is as far as blogging would go, I’d probably say cocaine and emails like this:
Your writing makes me laugh out loud. Which is noteworthy because (1) things are rarely funny in print; (2) you have good grammar; and ( 3) I' m a pretentious, hard-to-please, stiff-ass ed lawyer.
You should really think about charging people for access to your site. Let 's discuss it sometime. And my cut. Kidding.
I thoroughly enjoy your work , and just had to send a recognition (which, like many other millions claim, " I don' t usually do") ,
Mia
I don’t know what it is about my writing style but I just realized that there are a lot of lawyers who read this blog. Now the questions that begged to be asked are:
1.) Mia, are you single?
2.) If you are, are you looking for a boyfriend?
3.) If you answered yes to question number 2, do you mind if potential boyfriend is 40 pounds overweight?
4.) And cannot consummate the relationship? (when drunk)
Seriously, keep them good vibes coming. These are the only real reasons why I continue to publicly make a fool out of myself on the internet.
And about charging people for access to my blog; I don’t think so. I just don’t believe that’s the way to go. Although I wouldn’t mind a book or TV deal like Jason Mulgrew over here. I’d give up a testicle if I could even be half as famous as the fucker.
I know there are like Magazine people who read this shit, come on guys, let’s keep an open mind here! If People Magazine in the US can feature an unattractive, overweight blogger as one of their 50 hottest bachelors, why can’t we?
Think about it.
Have a good week everyone!
Here at the Man Blog, we want nothing more than to promote the fledgling local music scene. With the recent proliferation of a new wave of artists however, determining whether or not an artist’s music is even worth our time of day can be a daunting task.
Much like how Ralph Fiennes picked off prisoners from his balcony in Schindler’s list, The 2006 Bleeding ear awards will attempt to cull the worst of this year’s music and present them with awards and hopefully make them stop producing half-baked crap that, with the help of mainstream media, they cram to the quivering throats of the masses.
So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, the 2006 Bleeding Ear awards:
Hale – Blue sky
Good Lord! What the hell are you?!
I actually wrote an open letter to Hale guy(whose name is Champ, as I found out lolz) a couple of months ago demanding a moratorium on any of his band’s songwriting activities. Seeing that the band continues to create puerile songs which have about the same complexity as a can or rocks, I am more than happy to award them the Bleeding Ear for their song Blue Sky
Why does this song deserve the Bleeding Ear? Well much like their previous radio hits such as Broken Sonnet and The Day you said goodnight, Blue sky is a formulaic song strategically written to subconsciously appeal to every heartbroken high school emo kid across the country.
It makes use of the patented Hale nasal singing™, Hale verse-chorus-verse-bridge-chorus2x song pattern™ and the Hale crude guitar playing ™ that when combined, gives this song that unmistakable distinctiveness that can only be Hale.
This song is written in much the same way as a horoscope is: Vague enough to make everybody feel that it specifically applies to them but when examined closely makes as much sense as something written by a monkey sitting down on a keyboard.
Is there hate in your heart?
Does your body drop and tell you to stop
Loving you or loving me
When it all falls down you just sing with meCoz there’s a blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow shining and shimmering
A blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow
Maybe it’s all we need
Yeah, really now Champ? you’re what? 30 fucking years old or something? Brilliant.
Hale apologists may say “But the chorus is great! I feel as if the song is talking to me!” I guess. But the fact that this song is ignominiously packaged, the fact that Hale is making a travesty of what rock music is supposed to be, the fact that tolerance of such songs perverts the public’s perception of what good music is supposed to sound like, and how Champ’s eyes are set too far apart? Unforgivable.
Ely Buendia – Pupil
The reason why the frontman of a band who managed to sustain popularity and great influence for more than a decade resorts to feeble stabs at “musical exploration” geared mainly towards pop is beyond me.
It’s such a shame that one of the people responsible for creating the venerable institution that is the local rock scene could form a new band and spew out insipid crap (Nasaan ka, Dianetic)that sound like the work of washed up phonies who’re writing songs out of necessity.
Has the once grand creative well of someone who’s quite possibly the greatest local song writer totally dried up? Does he come home at night and see his malnourished children rolling around the grimy floors of his ramshackle cabin, clutching their stomachs in hunger that he’s doing this entire band gig out of sheer necessity?
We will never know. But Ely, here’s your bleeding ear.
Kitchie Nadal
I rest my case.
I'm not too crazy about celebrities let alone, getting autographs and shit. But I'm prepared to suck dicks to get this guy's signature on his books I own:
I know it's kinda condescending for a man of my stature to get autographs and stuff from lesser known celebrities but David Sedaris is one of the few humor writers I truly respect.
(I would've said he's the "best. writer. ever." but I recently called a moratorium on this entire "best. [Whatever]. ever." shit. Face it people, like Chuck Norris jokes, this crap's getting old)
Anyways people, mark July 27, 2006 on your calendars; mark it as "The day Mike Villar went to Powerbooks Shangri-La to get his David Sedaris books signed but instead got jailtime for beating up a 52 year old Iranian tourist. Then David Sedaris would totally find him adorable and ask him to run away with him to a Carribean island he owns so they could be together forever and stuff"
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
