Shit. Literally.

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

One thing you have to know about me is that I am very particular with toilets. It takes a great deal of time for me to warm up to and actually let my ass touch a toilet seat other than the one I have at home.  So unless I am faced with the most adverse of circumstances (Like if somebody held a gun to my head or offered to give me a handjob while I do it. Whatever works) , there is no way in hell that I am going to take a dump in a toilet other than the one I have at home.

I think this has something to do with one of the most traumatizing events that happened in my childhood: An event which involved an entire class of second graders, shit-stained school shorts, a lot of laughter and the beginning of an era: an era when everyone in school referred to me as "Mike Tae" (late 80's to mid 90's)

So yeah, whenever I feel like I need to go, I usually try to stave it off and hold it in until I get home and drop my cargo off at my cushioned comfort throne. I've been pretty successful doing it too; I mean sure, there might've been several occasions when I dropped the cargo too early and ended up scrubbing the floor of my bathroom drunk, sweating, cursing and swearing off chocolate cake and San Mig light; my hesitance to use other toilets when I BADLY need to go hasn't caused me any major embarassments–until yesterday.

For the most of my work day yesterday, I have been suffering from a bad case of the runs. And although relatively unnoticed by my officemates(since, for the most part, I've successfully alleviated my urge to go by crop dusting and burst farting whenever I go out to smoke), my stomach felt really really sick (So if any of you guys saw a thick patch of tissue paper on the floor of the office restroom, DO NOT, in any circumstance lift it or else, you're in for one hell of a brown, stinking surprise).

Fast forward to 6pm, the time I get off. My brother picked me up from work with his girlfriend and for the most part of the trip home I've been wanting to pull over a gas station and just shit the fuck all over the place. My stubbornness prevented me from doing this and instead, I turned to my iPod for some comfort. Big Mistake. (part 1)

The first songs on my playlist were songs from Slayer's Christ illusion and I don't know what the fuck happened but I think all the shit in me got rattled upon prolonged exposure to all the metal shit I've been listening to because after 10 minutes, I felt something well up inside of me–and that something is NOT listening to my pleas for it not to come out of its little cave. At least not yet.

Anyway, I did what I thought was best to deal with it. I mean since it has worked well for most part of the day, I tried letting off controlled little burst farts to relieve what I was feeling. Big Mistake(part 2).

So I thought "Yeah, I farted inside an airconditioned vehicle I share with my brother and his girlfriend. Big deal." I mean, I always fart in the presence of people I'm close to and they have, especially my brother, been desensitized  to both the smell and general disgustingness of my fart.

The problem came when I realized that the distinct heat that came with my last fart lingered a little longer than usual. I shifted in my seat and noticed something oozing down my left leg. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I shit myself.

Now who wants to make out with me? Nobody? Okay!

Anyway, I didn't know what else to do and just in time, as my brother started cursing, rolling down the windows and was about to call me out on it, I pretended to be sick and asleep in the backseat. I mean I'm sure he didn't buy it as he was swearing his head off all the way home telling his girlfriend about how I'm easily the most disgusting brother in the world and how he wished I had never been born.

At this point I want to extend my most sincere aplogies to the following people:

My mom. Mom, I know I'm not your favorite person right now; in fact, I could picture you lost in contemplation while washing my shit-stained pants, boxers and blanket (I had to be consistent with the entire "I'm sick" act I pulled on my brother so I went to bed without washing myself. Fuck you.). You're probably looking back at your life looking for that one horrible thing you might have done to deserve an overweight, sexually-confused son who shits his pants and cannot sustain an erection unless he hears tortured screams of the innocent. 

I just want you to know that it's not your fault. It's mine. And I should've listened to you when you told me that it's okay to smoke marijuana but I should, as you eloquently put it, "Stay the fuck away from crystal meth and cocaine."

I love you mom.

My Fiancee. Baby, I know that everytime you read my blog, you feel more and more hesitant to marry me.  I just want you to know that I am doing this for us. I mean, do you honestly think that making a fool out of myself over the internet leaves me happy and fulfilled? Fuck no. But you see, it's entertainment; and someday, and that day may never come, I will get a writing gig doing this. I will write an autobiographical novel which will be an international success. For the most part of our marriage, we will live a prosperous life–until, I have an affair with one of our daughter's attractive friends and succumb to excessive gambling.

So you know, hang in there. Or else. 

Drunk, iPod

Thursday, January 4, 2007

1.) I have been very VERY drunk. Seriously. It's so bad that I'm pretty sure I am going to die soon. If I were a neurologist (Which I'm obviously not, although I often tell ladies I meet at parties that I am after my infamous "I'm sort of famous on the internet" line started to lose its appeal a couple of months ago) I'd say that I killed like 40% of my brain cells over the Holidays. My uncontrolled indulgence in alcohol over the end of last year led to days upon days of crippling hangovers. As I have been drunk almost nightly for the most of the end of last year up until only a couple of days ago, these hangovers have started to become a serious impediment in terms of how I function daily.

For instance, I usually drive all the way from Fairview to Shaw to get to work. I've been in such a bad shape lately that today I asked my brother Ryan, who's arguably the worst driver in Asia, to drive me to work and pick me up when I get off because I'm pretty sure that If I drive to work with the hangover I had earlier, I would've invariably rammed my car into a lamp post or ran over a couple of school kids crossing the street. I can't stress enough how rarely this happens being I don't trust him with ANY motor vehicle. The asshole is only 19 years old and already, he has managed to cause tens and thousands of pesos worth of damage to property, endangered hundreds of lives and served jail time. Suffice it to say that he's very happy with the fact that he can take the car to school. You see, my brother has this illusion that he's black and he enjoys dressing up like Lil Jon, playing loud hip hop music in the car while it's parked in his school's parking lot and generally being laughed at by other people in his school.

Anyway, while he was driving me to work, I was pretty sure I was going to throw up or pass out on the way. Luckily I didn't pass out nor threw up because my mind was preoccupied riding different waves of emotions while I was listening to my iPod (Yes, I have an iPod now. More on this later). So yes, instead of throwing up or passing out, I was busy crying while Brian McKnight's One Last Cry wafted to my ears or pumping my fist in a show of nationalistic pride while Bamboo sang Pinoy Ako through the earphones and rocking the fuck out and banging my head to Metallica's songs while people from other cars point and laugh at me.

I don't expect this to change anytime soon. In fact, I'm attending another friend's birthday party later tonight and I intend to get drunk and high out of my mind so that tomorrow I will be writing about how I woke up and chased a yellow rabbit who stole meatloaf from our pantry or about a jolly pink elf who keeps stomping on my hand while I sleep.

So you know, be very happy for me! I mean I drank a lot over the Holidays and I successfully managed to deal a significant amount of damage to my health and reduce my lifespan by about 5 years. I'm fucking awesome I know.

2.) I have an iPod! For years, I have been resisting the temptation to get an iPod primarily because I thought iPod's are for pretentious, weak-wristed yuppies who wear Chuck Taylors and messenger bags and think that the world is one big music video where they can traipse up and down the posh streets of business districts listening to The Fray's How to save a life (Seriously, get a life people).

So when I was given an iPod a couple of days ago, I seriously didn't know what to do. My brother was badgering me to give it to him but being the evil evil man that I am, I thought fuck it; I'd very much rather use it myself than give it to my brother. So yeah, I copied like 400 songs into my iPod and much to my surprise, I enjoyed using the damn thing. In fact, I've gotten quite attached to my iPod and rely on it to set the mood for everything I do. In the morning, I listen to O Fortuna while taking taking a dump; in the evening, I like to listen to the Sugababe's Push the button while masturbating.

I've also been listening to my iPod alot when I'm walking around (usually to Buttercup) but I haven't really figured out how other people manage to make walking around town with their iPods look fashionably cool. My friend told me that the proper way to do it is to run the earphone cables up your shirt, pull the earbuds out of your collar and to your ear. I don't do this simply because it makes me uncomfortable. Instead, I put my iPod in my pocket and connect the earphones to my ears over my shirt. I really can't find the words to express how awkward this looks. Imagine a fat guy like me walking up the street with a white cord over and lifting part of his shirt, exposing his dirty belly button. Terrible.

So yeah, when I finally manage to figure this shit out; I'll be the fat creepy guy following you around katipunan, mouthing the lyrics to Careless Whisper, strumming an illusory guitar while winking at you. Say hello.