A lot of people ask me how it feels to be overwhelmed by a deluge of both praise and hate mail. Well, it’s indescribable really: You know that feeling when you take a dump, look down the bowl and you see a huge-ass turd? It’s like that. You feel fulfilled but at the same time, dirty.
I mean, how would you feel if you get emails like this everyday?
You emulate a young kid who teases his classmates nothing more than “pangit ka.” Very immature indeed. Anyways, you did get a lot of comments from readers for your article.
Making use of a provocative write-up to get publicity. Good or bad publicity is still publicity. Well, your name’s a bit famous now. Too bad, a lot might be putting you in their list of assholes.
For an article that can be written by a grade school student… You did get a lot of hits for your homepage… well mabye that’s the only reason you made your article. None the less, very immature and superficial.
Hope that God will judge you by the way you dress, comb your hair, scent of your perfume and the way you stand and smile.
superfluous, pretentious and hifalutin words; a trifling attempt to abase my writing which, as we all know, is immaculate. Yes, this is profoundly annoying to me if that’s what you’re wondering about, but it’s more of how the message is composed and less about what the actual message is.
One thing about this message that hits a nerve is how the sender condemns the superficiality of the entire Atrocities of Friendster/MySpace patrol series yet he asks his God to judge me in a similar manner. Isn’t this a clear affront to you—God, Creator, Father, Golden Goat?
Anyway, I really don’t care about how God will judge me when I die? Who the hell knows what’s gonna happen when we die anyway? I, myself attempted to solve this mystery a couple of days ago. I stapled a piece of paper that read “Tell me where you are!” on our newest editor Squid’s forehead and proceeded to kill him to death by hammering him with a hammer.
To date, Squid’s ghost failed to write anything on the piece of paper, leading me to believe that there are no such things as God, heaven or judgment. This means that I’m free to continue living my secular life of depravity and moral decadence without the fear of a supreme being judging me by the “way I dress, the way I comb my hair, the scent of my perfume and the way I stand and smile.”
Fuck it, that’s a long-ass preamble for what I really want to say: I have a new edition of The Atrocities of Friendster but since this entire thing is getting old, we’re gonna try and put a little twist—Adam, who authors the MySpace patrol series is going to join me in this update and the both of us will settle, once and for all, the entire which is better? MySpace or Friendster? Thing.
Adam: Mike, quit with the chit chat. It’s time for the clash of the uglies. I draw first and put The Huking Monch down on the field in the attack position. Those muscles are the least of your worries Mike! He will infect you with that rash on his chest and sic the deadly tandem of psycho pooh and killer hello kitty on you!
Mike: Oh yeah!? Well count Reginald here will join and win the Whine-deppression-athon 2006. THEN he’ll send your soul to the fiery depths of hell! After that, he’ll scrounge a few hundred pesos from his mom and buy pirated The Cure and My chemical Romance CD’s so he can jack off to them. Of course that’s if his acne or that thing on his head doesn’t eat his entire face first.
Adam: Hah! That’s nothing. Idyl here will distract you by showing some cleavage, then those tentacles on her head will shoot out and restrain you particularly if you have a green card. She will then proceed to marry you, hiding her hideousness by constantly giving you blowjobs. And then, when you least suspect it, she will give you a heart attack by showing her face to you in the light. She will then take her time torturing and killing her step kids. You think I’m making this up? It’s happened before. Behind her are her latest victims. So what are you gonna do punk?
Mike: Feisty. I like that. Well, I guess it’s time to draw one of my better cards: I HEREBY SUMMON DALTON: The living don’t want him, neither do the dead. I don’t know where the fuck this thing belongs but its parents tried to poison this thing and threw its stiff corpse along with the garbage. I still think it belongs inside a toxic waste container that should be thrown into the abyss.
MY EYES!!! You will pay for that mister Villar. This thing calls itself “Cum And Get Me”. It will trap you in the chamber of dimmest light, and will then ask you a riddle. “Guess my gender win a prize. Guess wrong and I will eat you!” The cruel twist is that even if you do guess correctly, the prize it speaks of is forcing you to perform oral sex on it. Either way, you’re screwed.
HERE I GOOOO SCREAM MY LUNGS OUTTT AND TRY TO GET TO YOOOOOUUUU, YOUU ARE MY ONLY ONEEEE!!! LOLZ
Mike: Oh for chrissakes, leave the metal attitude to your kids with ADD and start powerwashing your car you fucking German.
Adam: “Look into my eyes, they stare and goggle, HYPNOTIZED! or your mind will BOGGLE! Hi. My name is Bhob, yes, with an h. Won’t you please be my friend? If you do I will smile at you everyday, just like this. What’s wrong with my hair? Oh, it’s to distract you from the acne and my pock marked face. What you feel dizzy? That’s just the Rohypnol working. Yes. I spiked your drink. I will now take you to my lair and sodomize you.”
Mike: LOL guy whose gnome teeth looks like it could chew through an engine block humps his buddy with dirty toe nails. How crazy is that? Maybe next, they’ll dunk his head in a punch bowl and ejaculate on his hair! When would the hilarity stop!?
Adam: This is my last move and I swear to make it count. I call to the field Jersey! The Erection Eradicator. The vision of her will be forever burned into your mind, and your dick will be limp…forevermore.
But wait, I now activate this monster’s special ability, I present to you, a direct quote from her profile, guaranteed to turn your brain to mush:
“miLLion TeArdRops ScamPereD aLong my Mind… MemoRies fLuckered aCroSS my Mind… thOugHts oF YOU huNtEd My SouL.. How Can I be So bLind?? I Felt so Lost wiThout YOU… But I ReaLized I shoULd gO oN.. My Life musT Not STop Here.. Who the HELL cArEs If You are GoNe?? HatRed beGaN To eNVeLop .. Im siCk And TiRed in EvErytHing.. iM nOt Even ThiNking Of whAt mAy sTiL haPPen tO dIs reLatIonShip tHat We Used to Have.. Im ALONE now.. weLL, nOt ReaLLy bUt I HavE LearNed hOw To Live my LiFe wIthOut yOu, aNd it’s nOt So miserAble.. Im STRONG!!!! Im nOt suPPose to Cry.. so I pRomiSe to Myself.. nEVer to be LOST.. neVer wiLL be Hurt.. nEvEr… NEVER WITH YOU AGAIN!!!!! i PrOMiSEd MysElf tHat I Wil NvEr Be in Love Wid U AgEn.. But Why cAnt i MovE On… damn me!!!!!”
Motherfucker! That dealt +3 damage to me and caused me -3 STR. Well take this you MySpace communist fag: Allan “Lardmaster” lara is prepared to drive a cleaver across his face for me, his master. I’ll then bake him for a few days and voila! I’ll have enough meat to feed a small army as well as enough skin to construct a huge tent to house them.
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
