In my lifetime, I sported a lot of hairstyles. In high school, when heartthrobs like Devon Sawa, Leonardo diCaprio and the Gwapings rocked long soft hair parted in the middle, I used to empty bottles upon bottles of Vitalis on my straight, raven black hair. After that got old and the short, cropped Clooney-esque hair became the in thing (early college days), my thing was to wake up in the morning, take a shower and dump wads of hair product into my hair, get on with my day and retire to bed without taking a shower until the next day.
Nowadays, after a date did a number on my self esteem by saying that gel was “so 80's” and how it makes my face look like it was dunked in a tub of oil whenever I sweat and the gel sort of flows down my cheeks with sweat (I sweat easily and profusely). Nowadays, I try to rock a spiked, matte do. I achieve this by not taking a bath and sort of just get out of bed, smother my head with hair wax, and just randomly run my fingers across my hair until the entire thing becomes a fashionably chaotic mess.
What is my point? Well earlier tonight, I realized that apparently, my long history of abusing hair products has finally caught up with me. In the bath, while I was admiring how my jiggling tummy sends out ripples across its surface and at the same time, cursing my dad for passing on to me the smallest bird on the continent like some sort of cruel genetic curse, (This is a lie. Once when my dad was confined in the hospital a couple of years back for an extreme case of hemorrhoids, he asked me to help him urinate into one of those hospital-issue bedpans. So he lifted his gown and OH MY GOD….) something got my attention. I moved closer to the mirror and—SHOCK!–HORROR! I think my hairline is receding.
Uncool.
See, most men reach their “peak of attractiveness” around the age of 24. My age. Yes, I'm 24. And already my looks are on a steep, sad decline. This is particularly sad when I think about the number of women I've had (consensual)sex so far, a number, if I may add, I can't see improving. Ever.
As it stands, I'm already about 40 pounds overweight; The long term effect of working graveyard, helping the great people of America find telephone numbers, has manifested itself as dark purple spots under my eyes. Also, I think I'm sweating pure nicotine out of my pores thanks to thousands of cigarettes, which, also made sure that I have the blackest, most undesirable lips ever.
I wish I had something to compensate for this aesthetic decline like a dope ride or a killer job, but I drive a crappy 6 year old Japanese sedan, the backseat of which is decorated with permanent semen stains (beating off behind the UP bahay ng alumni while simultaneously fantasizing and wishing death upon couples making out in the area) and my job pretty much consists of me pretending to talk to people on the phone and printing out random documents to decorate my desk with.
So yeah, I'm feeling really terrible about myself and I'd appreciate any good vibes you can send my way. Preferably, if you're a hot chick, in the form of a nice picture of your naked chest. Fuck it, I really need to go out with women more. And when I say “go out” I mean like really hanging out: going out on a date, ordering food neither of us can afford; having a good conversation. Her getting to know the real me, me copping glances at her chest, licking my lips. Whatever. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm feeling really lonely right now. And you can't blame me since the last real conversation I had with a girl went something like this:
Me: I know this sounds cheesy but I like you. I like you a lot.
Joyce: …
Me: I don't know how it happened either, but I woke up one morning and I knew that I need to be with you for the rest of my life.
Joyce: …
Me: I've never asked you how you felt about me because I'm afraid of what your answer might be.
Joyce: ….
Me: But tonight, I'm going to go out on a limb and…Oh God, I love you, just kiss me. KISS ME HARD!
Mom: [Barges into my room] Michael? Are you having a bad dream? Are you okay? I heard you talking to somebody….
Me: [Puts bird back in shorts back in time] ..um nobody..I wasn't talking to anybody…[discreetly wipes tears]
Sad. But don't mind me, you guys have a good week ahead of you. (Again the tittie pics go to god [at] man-blog.com)
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
