Emails, Law School syndrome

Friday, August 11, 2006

One of my biggest gripe with being a Rising Internet Star is that I have a very lopsided relationship with the Internet. You, my dear readers, enjoy a take-take relationship where you come to my blog and expect me, Mike “Fucking” Villar, to do nothing but entertain you with accounts of my everyday failures, my battle with obesity, my excessive, clinically deviant masturbation and what not yet in my time of need, nobody even bothers to send me good vibes (tittie pics).

Admittedly, I have my own shortcomings in this silly relationship of ours. Like recently, I have been receiving a lot of “fan mail” from women to which I reply in a rather flirtatious manner until I convince them to send their picture or their MySpace account. Depending on how these women look like, I usually stop replying to their emails altogether or begin proposing to go on a date with them explicitly stating that I want the night to end with us availing one of those “12 hour promos” those seedy motels offer (Gardenia in Sta. Mesa. I have a discount card), have something slightly resembling sex, and me taking pictures of them wearing my clothes.

To date, nobody has acquiesced.

So yes, I am a terrible TERRIBLE man and nobody would ever want to associate with me other than through reading this blog. I, however, would want to redeem myself and I intend to do that by replying to random emails weekly and giving whoever wrote it the bragging rights that comes with the fact that I, Mike Villar: Rising Internet star, replied to their email, posted it on his blog, AND have the privilege of taking him out on an extravagantly romantic date where he, throughout the course of the dinner, would crack numerous tasteless and inappropriate jokes about people who live in Visayas. Depending on how the sender looks like, Mike Villar: Rising Internet Star may or may not put the sender through numerous awkward moments by throwing a lot of sexual innuendos using food items like “wrinkled sausage” and “black muffin” as metaphors. Depending on how the sender looks like, Mike Villar: Rising internet Star may or may not pick up the tab. Also, depending on how the sender looks like, Mike Villar: Rising internet Star may or may not resort to homicide and rape.

The choice on which Email to reply to and publish this week was a rather easy one. The messages I got this week were mostly along the lines of “You suck”, “Please stop being so lame”. Mia's email over here easily takes the cake. She has some very interesting advice for me including why I should start hanging out with female lawyers and how cheap flowers and a piece of rock is enough to make them drop their panties for you:

Dear Mike Villar: Rising Internet Star,

Too many down entries.  I'm not getting my weekly guffaw-therapy.  That, and, oddly enough, you draw out my mother instinct (hooboy). 

This calls for some of the best unsolicited advice you’ll ever get.

One:  Snap out of it, man!  Snappity snap!  Who needs women when we have Captain America and the totally-tigas-demon-singer-whose-name-I-don't-know?  (Please max out volume)

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6985619079480094102&q=system

I was about to click on the link but I got excited and started rubbing my bird. I was about to climax when a female officemate walked past my cubicle and saw me making weird faces and she was all like “Are you okay?” and I was “Shut the hell up Jennifer Aniston!You filthy filthy whore!” I climaxed. And before I realized it, my female officemate was already gone, leaving with a nasty splotch of semen on my pants and an intense feeling of guilt and shame.

If you really must pine away for the not-so-mysterious mystery you call "women":

Two:  Hang around lawyers – your age, of course – more. 

If you know any, ask them about the "law school syndrome".  In sum, the "law school syndrome" is the inevitable lowering of one's aesthetic standard re the opposite sex, due to the drastic cut in exposure to the outside world. 

Does this apply to law students as well? If it does, this is absofuckinglutely awesome. When I presented for my company in UP's Malcolm hall during the last iBlog summit, I saw lots of female sex dolls whom I assumed were law students because of those thick-ass books they were vandalizing with highlighting pens. I badly wanted to hit on them but thought that they were out of my league. I mean, I'm but a lowly junior executive in an Internet Company and they are lawyers-to-be preparing for a bright career in typing affidavits of loss or a life of Force Majeure and other lawyerly shit like that.

One question though: are their moral standards just as low as their aesthetic standards? Because if ever I am to hook up with any of them, I want to get down to business if you know what I mean. That's just how I, spoony luv—err Mike Villar: Rising Internet star rolls.

For instance, just today, while asking for a light in a No-Smoking area in The QC City Hall, I got this:

DOM lawyer 1:  "Aba!  Akala ko huhulihin na ako." 

To which, in deference to gramps, I politely reply, "hindi po, makikisindi lang". 

"E magpapahuli talaga ako kung ganyan kaganda ang manghuhuli sa akin," abruptly cuts in DOM lawyer 2.  

So, being the sport kumpañera that I am, I give them my best smile:

I need a second

….

….

….

OHHOLYGODFUCKPUSSYMOUSEBURGER!

Sorry about that. Tee-hee.

Law school syndrome. 

Now, think of what you'd get with your brains.  And your humor.  Why, you'd have a harem of budding young women lawyers (budding where, I leave to your imagination) cutting lines upon lines of grade-A coke for you!

I need another second here

…

FUCKINGNUNRIDINGAUNICYCLETITS!!!!

fuck I'm spent.

Three:  Start small and simple.

An officemate of mine had a terribly exaggerated, week-long dilemma about how to propose to a chick he was dating.  Let me clarify that he wasn’t talking marriage.  He just wanted the chick to be his girlfriend. 

Normally I wouldn't give a fuck, much more give fucking advice, in a situation such as that.  To begin with, I've never believed that stepping over into boyfriend-girlfriend status deserves a formal proposal.  But this guy's daily whine-visits to my room, and to the room next to mine, and so on, had to be put to a halt.  My ears just didn't have enough wax.

So his ideas were, among others: (1) a violin quartet over dinner, after which she'd go home and lie on her bed that would be strewn with *gasp* rose petals; or (2) dinner at Chef Laudico's extravagantly priced pseudo-resto home in Urdaneta Village (sans the petals, he said, as that would then be "going overboard").  Christ, right?

OMGLOL! What a gay! Because I'm a filthy attention whore I'm going to take this opportunity and steal the spotlight from Faggety McFag or whatever the hell your friend's name is and tell you my own story about rose petals and stupid little gimmicks like it.

If you've read even a little of this blog, you'd know that I am an audiophile, I am crazy about music and download music obsessively. Back in 2000 I was both dating this scorching college chick and listening to an awesome rock band called 'Mad at Gravity.' In an attempt to win her over with my pseudo musicianship, I sort of plagiarized a song by the aforementioned band called 'Stay', recorded an acoustic rendition of it and had her listen to it saying that I wrote the song just for her. She was moved to tears and I felt at that point that she was about to give me her sweet yes. What I failed to realize that there was this new fangled thing called 'The Internet' and this nifty search engine called 'Google'. I don't know if it's out of her curiosity or she simply didn't believe that an oaf like me can write such an excellent song but let's just say that she found out that I didn't really write the song. I never heard from her again.

And yes I am referring to YOU Sarah Madrigal. It's enough that you called me on my little stunt but to tell your friend I dated after you that the song I wrote for her called 'Drive' wasn't written by me but in fact by a popular band called 'Incubus' was a little too much.

Crazy bitch.

The problemo with women is, we peg you to your starting point.  Unless you can pull it off as "a charming surprise that'll never ever EVER happen again", anything slightly downhill from that starting point means you're roadkill.

I totally agree with this. I have a friend who, much like your friend Faggety McFag, was into romantic shit so much that when he decided to ask this girl, who was also my friend,to be his girlfriend,he took her out to dinner in this fancy-ass restaurant and rented a choir to sing an Enya song. Sure, they became a couple and shit but now all they fight about and all the girl complains about is how she wishes 'he'd be as sweet as before'.

Moral of the story kiddies? Do NOT, for the love of God, raise the bar too high.

So, ko-boy me tells him, "Dude.  Too much.  Take her to an Indian restaurant for dinner, cut the quartet and the friggin' petals, sub them with a nice bouquet of mums – no roses please – and then stun her with a big-ass rock that'll make her right hand drop to the floor.  Goodbye last vestiges of virginity!"

What the fuck?

Fine, the ring bit was projection on my part. 

Okay. Whew.

The point is, keep it simple.  Personally, I think a real "date" has to be earned – and by the couple, as a couple.  It's no fun wasting wonderful food and wine over uncomfortable silences. 

Besides, if “she” can’t handle simple, “she” probably isn’t worth it.

Four:  Ask out someone who you would have never thought to ask out.

Sometimes life deals you an unexpectedly good hand.  And if it didn't go well, then there'd be nothing to regret if you kept to point number 3.

As a parting shot, Mike Villar: Rising Internet Star, I hand over to you the cliché that always made the most sense to me: don’t go looking for “her”, or for love.  But make sure you don’t miss them when you do stumble upon either one.

Now can I have my funnies back please?

Good vibes,

Mia

So does this mean you want to go out sometime? If so, do you have any problems with having yourself photographed wearing my clothes?