The past few days have been nothing short of awesome for me. I know you get a lot of bitching from me about how terrible my hangover is on Saturdays, and I know I should stop already; but I wont, because I, yet again, am hungover like a bitch.
I am not going to bore you with details about how I got hungover since I'm really tired and sweaty and all I want to do really is languish away in my cubicle and watch the minutes go by while sipping a soda and cursing like a fucker.
But let's not let the hangover ruin the positivity here. Like I said, The past few days have been totally awesome for me. Friends, I'd like you to be the first to know that I, Mike "Fucking" Villar, can now add a new title/distinction to my long list of life achievements.
Starting today, April 28th 2007, "Worst maker of financial decisions" will be placed on a section in my resume between "Once masturbated while talking to a PLDT Customer care representative" and "Can ejaculate without sexual stimulation"
Okay let's backtrack a few steps here: We all know that Citibank is holding my brother Ryan hostage until I pay off my ginormous credit card debts with them right? Also, I adopted a really slow/retarded vietnamese kid named sip-sip to fill in for my brother's place whenever I get lonely and want somebody to scratch my armpits to sleep right?
Now, I don't know whose dick I sucked (I suck too many apparently), but HSBC just gave me a GOLD VISA with a credit limit of PhP 100,000 which may not be much for you, imperialist American reader, but is really a huge amount for us 3rd world monkeys you outsource your manufacturing jobs to.
I'm not sure if you see the impact of this in my life. Me applying for another credit card after CitiBank goons killed one of my kittens and burned our town church is quite possibly, the worst financial decision I have ever made in my entire life. I mean, it's only been a few days since I got a hold of the card but already, I estimate my credit debts to be somewhere around 10% of my credit limit. (Around PhP 10,000 for you non-math, non-smart people)
See, the problem with me is I translate "Credit Limit" to "Electronic money I want to spend on useless things simply because I can." True enough, checking my credit card statement online after mere days, I found the following items:
Jesus Christ. Do you guys see what's happening here? At the rate I'm going, HSBC will end up kidnapping my mom and probably sip-sip too until I pay up. Also, this makes me more unmarriable since, even though I'm cute and all (let's just play along), women will be afraid to marry me because after I die, I'd leave them and my posterity hundreds of thousands worth of Credit Card bills.
Help.
Anyway, for what it's worth, here's the link to my Flickr photo page:
When I'm not on personal phone calls or reading celebrity gossip sites at work, I enjoy analyzing this blogs' stats. Now I'm not exactly an expert at this but let me tell you something, an IP address can tell you a lot about the person who's visiting the site. Allow me to demonstrate:
202.01.20.123
"202" is the number of friends this particular visitor has on MySpace. "01" is the number of times he/she has gotten laid within the last 24 hours. "20" means that said person's grandfather was a slack-jawed Canadian bootlegger who manufactured fake Whiskey in copper tubs back in 1920 prohibition era United States. And "123" means that this person rides the MRT a lot. (Just play along)
You see what I did there? I came up with 2 paragraphs of fluff. And I got your attention and made you hate me and my unborn children.
Anyway, today, I am going to write about the MRT because I rode it to work this morning and although it's a short comfortable ride from North Avenue to Shaw Station, I have one gripe: It's hella boring.
For this reason, I came up with inventive games to help you, the urban warrior/squatter who doesn't have a car to make the commute more bearable.
THE HOW MANY DOUCHEBAGS ARE LISTENING TO THEIR FAKE IPODS GAME
You shouldn't limit your count to the ones you find in the MRT car; try to spot people rocking out to How To Save a Life or some other stupid "The world is a music video; and I'm the star!" type song in the station or even the people you fall in line while getting a card.
Usually these are people who hold up the line because they wouldn't stop being douchebags for a second and remove their fake earbuds to listen to what the ticket booth attendant is telling them.
On the train, these are usually the people who are sensually mouthing the lyrics to whatever the hell they're listening to on their fake iPods while sending SMS quotes to the "TXTM8" they found on TXTTUBE or whatever gay SMS channel they watch using their second hand mobile phones on All-day UNLIMITXT.
My personal best is 12, with 6 of them coming in from the Cubao station which, as we all know, is the most jologs station of all.
Also, I met the girl I'm dating via TXTTUBE and now she will punch me in the throat and won't have TXTSECKS with me whenever I feel horny and desperate.
THE HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE IN WORSE SHAPE THAN I AM GAME
Now a few rules for this game: This game only applies to people who are in the 20-30 age range since old people are generally disgusting and in bad shape. Now I don't know about you guys but I find that very few people are in genuinely worse shape than I am. My personal high is three and two of them look rich and therefore still better than I am.
Anyway, even if I'm morbidly fat, I still hold the belief that there is no lower form of existence than that of a fat guy riding the MRT on rush hour and occupying space that could easily be occupied by four normal-sized people.
Whenever a fat guy boards the MRT I let out an audible "ugh" signifying my disgust which is more often than not overheard. Fat guy then says something to the effect of "Yeah I'm fat, so are you. You have a problem bitch?" And I say "Yeah I do. Bitch" Then he says "So are you going to stand there looking like you're hungry for some cock or are you going to do something about it?" Then I go "What if I do this–" then give him a one inch punch ala Bruce Lee which sends him flying through the back of the car amid the cheer of people because even though we're both fat, I'm more charming. I would then pick him up and throw him out the open door and say something suave like "Oh by the way, this is your stop." More cheering follows and everyone else gets off except too hot twins who work at Makati who give me the most awesome alternating blowjobs Asia has ever seen.
Also, I suffer a stroke but luckily, one of the twins has a defibrilator and manages to revive me. We will then be inserperable for life.
I try not to play this game too much as it deals a significant blow to my self esteem and gets me all depressed. And we all know where my depression leads– To a McDonald's. Where I order two Big Macs and a sundae. Not good.
THE HOW MANY CHICKS WON'T I MIND FUCKING IN THIS TRAIN GAME
Now this is easily my favorite game being that right now, I would pretty much fuck anything that moves barring any major abnormality (And I mean major, like a pale gigantic hand that doesn't even move).
For some reason or another though, it seems that all the chicks who ride the MRT are hella ugly. And my personal best as far as this game would go is a miserable 5. I mean seriously, I can hang out in Greenhills for less than 10 minutes and easily spot 20 females I wouldn't mind sexing up.
I mean come on! Is it really too much to ask for attractive women on the MRT? I mean so I could imagine myself taking them to a nice fancy dinner, maybe throw back a few beers after, then check in to some motel and watch some porn on my laptop, then maybe act out a few scenes only I play the girl parts and they play the guy parts? Is it?
No really, is it?
Let me make a confession here: Ever since I lied to my psychiatrist about the state of my anxiety disorder and overall mental health, and successfully convinced her to take me off anti-depressants (Yet retain my prescription of Xanax and other benzodiazepines I could get high on. Yes. I'm very good at lying apparently), I've been drinking A LOT.
I know this is not really news since everybody knows how much more I love alcohol than everybody else I've loved in my life but seriously, it has gotten much worse and, for the first time, I am acknowledging that THIS HAS GOT TO STOP.
The reason primarily being that my alcoholism is taking a serious toll on my life, particularly my work since I have this predilection for drinking on work nights. My hangovers have been nothing short of savage these past few days and I end up losing my focus at work because, more often than not, I am hungover like a bitch (Also sweaty and dirty. This morning I could literally smell my undercarriage through my jeans and for some reason my bird smells like a wet dog. But let's not talk about that)
I've been drinking so much that I noticed that I drank every single night this week and although I exaggerated a lot before, this is the worst it has gotten. Before, I really didn't drink on week days. At most, I drank about thrice a week but now I'm easily doing over like 20 liters of alcoholic beverages a week. I don't know how that translates to my daily average and frankly, I don't want to find out being that it might depress the shit out of me.
But guess what, I'm Mike "Fucking" Villar. And Mike "Fucking" Villar does not succumb to ANYTHING. Not even alchol. As I write this, I have a battle plan laid out and I am willing to subject myself to rigid discipline to curb my worsening alcoholism.
Here's what I've noticed: I've been drinking at least three Red Horses a night this past week–the problem presents itself of course after you throw back your third bottle: It's fucking hard not to have ANOTHER.
I also noticed that I can pretty much stop drinking after my third bottle and be content, but if I have a fourth bottle, there's a GREAT chance that I'd go for another bottle. If I go for a fifth bottle, the chances are I am going to go for a sixth and when I go for a sixth bottle of red horse, nobody wins. When I throw back 6 bottles of Red Horse beer, it almost ends up with somebody getting arrested, and somebody's life and genitals being destroyed.
So the solution, I think, is to set three bottles as my absolute limit as far as daily drinking would go. I know this doesn't sound like much effort, but the important thing here, you assholes, is that I am doing SOMETHING about my alcoholism. Baby steps people. I'll get there.
P.S. I just realized that breaking up with my girlfriend pretty much destroyed whatever little chance I had left of getting laid this year. And because I'm in the middle of a maddening dry spell, I'm considering going to jail in exchange for getting to rape some random 17 year old (gender doesn't matter anymore). I mean it's not so bad, think about it:
1.) I will have masturbatory fodder for the rest of my life (I got to have sex with a minor AND got to have buttsecks with my Visayan cell mate EVERY NIGHT while I serve my 30-year sentence)
and
2.) I get to skip work. Because fuck it, work is so stressful nowadays.
(I just reread this entire post and oh my God, what am I saying? Seriously people, I'm still sane. Still.)
P.P.S.
I have a new phone number guys! TXT ME AT +639174382372 NO GAYS PLZ!
In the local blogosphere, you have exactly two choices as to which crowd you are to hang out with offline. you can either hang out with fat, balding hippies who academically and incessantly talk about their blogs OR you can hang out with a group of degenerate gamblers, drunkards and perverts who systematically destroy their healths and solicit sex from each other–often times with utter and blatant disregard to the gender of the person they solicit sex from.
I proudly belong to the second group. And with the help of my fellow Man Blog editors and groupies, we successfully demonstrated EVERYTHING that is wrong in the world in the span of one night.
It all started innocently enough with Ade, Liz, Nikki, Joni, her sister Jona and myself attending the 3rd Philippine Blogging Summit:
RRRRape time came early for Liz and Nikki
After we immoderately ate the free food they gave us, mooched off the free internet and took lengthy naps at the iBlog summit, we decided to head on over to Pau's place to join Adam, Bim, Coco, Anne, Steel and Fritz to get our much anticipated night of sin underway.
The monies I was about to win.
Poker night was fun at first. Beer and food was everywhere, there was a videoke machine setup for the nonparticipants, and I'd sit back and watch a few hands pretending not to know anything about poker.
It quickly went downhill over the next few hours after I decided to buy in and absolutely destroy them in poker, permanently changing their lives for the worse. It was both sad and beautiful–I bullied them, took their money and laughed, laughed, laughed, laughed some more and then proceeded to destroy Pau's toilet with a 20 pound shit bomb. Everybody else had to take a leak behind some trees after that.
Things got MUCH worse after Helga arrived with her Tanduay and wasted no time to teach the kids how to smoke:
In the end, the only people who were standing were Helga and I. Also, she gave me head.
I guess what I'm saying is that if you're not part of the TMB clique, you'll probably go to heaven and join papa Jesus. Also, you're not cool.
One thing you'd have to know about me is that I can hide behind my internet antics all I want but deep inside, I'm a sentimental sap who can't handle breakups all that well. So I've been really depressed lately and like any other sentimental saps who can't handle breakups all that well, I decided to throw myself around the warm, comforting embrace of drunkenness last night.
Now, I know it's not entirely uncommon for me to do this and this is actually one of the rare occasions that warrants me wanting to be fuck inebriated, but the thing is I'm absofuckinglutely broke. Well not broke in the "I have to get off work early because I got to go to Novaliches Bayan to suck the birds of stinky, sweaty men who sell fish in exchange for some rice" sense but rather in the "I really don't have enough financial resources to go on spending 2 thousand pesos four straight nights a row on booze and food so that I can get my squatter friends to hang out with me and listen to me cry about my ex-girlfriend all night" sense.
So after work yesterday, I had a special, cost-effective Mike Villar night planned out. A night which will involve two bottles of Tanduay Rum, some incense, and the Boyz II Men singing On Bended Knee in the background while I attempt to hit the ball out of the park as far as masturbation would go by furiously jacking off in front of the TV, occasionally falling down because masturbating with your boxers around your ankles while drunk can be quite a challenge.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find any Boyz II Men on my laptop, so I got more depressed and threw up all over my bathroom instead. Exhausted, and fucking hungry, I pulled myself together and decided to head over to the local 7-11 to get some Siopao, and a couple of bottles of beer to close the night. Big Mistake.
You see, the local 7-11 after 12 midnight is the last place a 25 year-old, drunk-ass, heartbroken anxious/depressed fat man should be. As soon as I got off my car I immediately saw couples who look like they're in their early 20's and just got off their stupid Call Center shifts–acting all sweet and shit, sharing a Slurpee, feeding each other Siomai and saying stuff like "Sorry I took so long to pick you up babe? My last caller was dumb Midwesterner who doesn't even know what DSL meant. God this call center gig is so stressful, sometimes I wonder what I'd do without you. You're the only thing that can take away all my stress babe! Now let's hop unto my scooter and make love in my room which is in the house I still share with my parents! We're on the clock here, good thing you're wearing a skirt babe." While I sink my face into my hands and sob uncontrollably in a fit of sadness while I wish death upon all of them. Fucking minimum wagers.
Needless to say, I went to work hungover as a bitch and my stomach protesting over all the Siopao and Siomai which are definitely not sitting well. Things got much worse when I realized that it was Marc's birthday today and the entire office had a surprise party thrown at him. This of course meant assloads of Pizza and gallons upon gallons of fake, instant orange juice.
Assloads of pizza
So yeah I must've eaten like four slices of this ginormous, weird-ass peanut butter-flavored pizza with sour cream and like four glasses of orange juice. At this point, my stomach was all "Listen fatty, I don't care whether or not you want to eat more pizza, but I'm throwing out all this Siomai, beer, mangoes, rice, and siopao you ate and drank last night first. Oh and I meant, Now."
I rush to the comfort room and dumped what seems like 10 pounds of shit into the toilet. Satisfied, I decided to use this contraption that like sprays a powerful stream of water straight into your ass so you don't have to use tissue paper anymore (or do you? I don't know). Another Big Mistake.
As it turns out, the thing is WAY off the mark and I ended up spraying filthy water all over my legs, penis, testicles, boxers and pants.
So here I am, writing this entry in an isolated corner of the office because I fear that my officemates (especially the girls) will forever get creeped out at me after they see me soaked in toilet water, smelling like shit. (Actually they can either get creeped out at that or at the fact that I regularly point to my crotch, to them then back to my crotch while smiling and nodding my head slowly. But that's for an entirely new post.)
Not my best day. Not my best day at all.
Anyway, I will be at The 3rd Philippine Blogging Summit tomorrow so if you want to make out with me or something, say hello. I'll propose to the first girl who kisses me (with tongue please) I swear to God.
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
