Saturday, I went out with my friend Maffy to Bagaberde in Pasig to sort of just chill and catch up on what's been going on with our lives. I'm really not crazy about the entire thing because I know Bagaberde to be this bar which showcases such acoustic talents like Paolo Santos and his ilk and I'm really not into that kind of music. Originally, our plan was to watch a movie in The Promenade but since we arrived late and missed the last showing of the movie we were supposed to watch and because Maffy's not much of a drinker which leaves the alternative I had in mind (which is to avail of this 4+1 Colt 45 promo in a cheap grill, get piss drunk, and eventually get erotic with somebody) out of the question, I settled for the next best thing– Go somewhere I can get piss drunk, somewhere Maffy can nurse a glass of mango shake, and somewhere we can watch a live band perform.
Since I haven't been to Bagaberde for close to two years now, I honestly didn't know what to expect. So, imagine my reaction when I finally got to see who's playing that night: wait for it…here it comes…
Freestyle.
Free-fucking-style.
I know you're all like “What's so bad about Freestyle? I'm sure they do covers of some songs you like. Plus, isn't their chick vocalist hot or something?”
No. To both questions. Okay well maybe yes to the chick vocalist being hot but the fact that she is hot doesn't sit in well with the almost paralyzing loneliness I've been feeling lately. So you know, all this does to me is make me sink into my pit of self-pity, lust, masturbation and wishing death upon all the happy couples within a 5 mile radius of me.
Anyway, since there was no turning back, I decided to stop being an asshat and tried to make the most of the situation. So almost immediately after we paid the entrance fee (Fucking ripoff. 200 bucks to see a stupid show band?) I got right down to business: I got ourselves a table and ordered 5 Red Horses, Pork Sisig and a mango juice for Maffy.
Bad idea. Turbo-drinking 5 bottles of Red Horse because you're afraid that the bar might close in two hours time and you wouldn't get a chance to order more is just plain dumb.
In no time, much to Maffy's chagrin, my brain shifted from “sheepish, chubby guy” mode to “Douchebag McFly” mode which basically means I started making random observations and making fun of people around us. Some of the observations I made were rather funny and since nothing entertaining has happened to me lately, I think I'm going to share them with you!
Freestyle's bassist was formerly with Barbie's Cradle…and he looks like Bonel Balinguit!
That was the joke. There's nothing else here.
Fat chicks can really sing
I don't know if I'm the only person who noticed this but man, fat chicks can really belt it. You know how show bands like Freestyle sometimes ask members of the audience to come up on stage to sing a song and sort of jam with the band? Well they did that a number of times when I was there and the first to come up on stage was this really fat sow who looked like she drives a Minivan and has STD or something. She was acting kind of diffident at first but when she was handed the microphone she just KILLED THE SONG. I mean really fucking kill it because you know I don't fuck around when I use capital letters like that. She went on with her version of “Through the fire” like it was nothing, hitting every note perfectly and even sneaking in a couple of“yeaahhhh-uh-uh-uh's” in between verses.
But no matter how awesome her singing voice is, nobody could get past her fatness. Her effort and intensity, instead of garnering applause from the audience, elicited comments like “Man, she can really sing, but look at all that motherfucking fat.” or “I could fall in love with her, if only she wasn't fat” or “I bet you have to lift three layers of fat before you can fingerblast the shit out of her.” I know right? People can be so mean.
Okay so the last comment was mine. I'm a terrible terrible man and you shouldn't invite me to parties where there's alcohol because it's inevitable that I'd make comments like the one above if I so much as get tipsy.
A group made up of college chicks is annoying as fuck
Come on, as if the giggling emanating from their fey mouths isn't annoying enough, they also have this unmitigated effrontery to sing along nay, scream with the band like deaf mute retardates. I hate them all to hell and If I weren't so desperate for female companionship I wouldn't have written down my mobile number on a table napkin and wouldn't have “accidentally” dropped it in one of their purses because you know, they're annoying and a man of my stature shouldn't fraternize with them. But yeah I'm lonely and I can't afford to be picky. Whatever.
People who are obviously drunk shouldn't be called up to sing on stage
Okay, there was this other guy who was called up on stage by the band to sing a song after a lot of egging from the guy's friends. So this guy, who's obviously blitzed, comes up on stage amid the cheering of the crowd and prepares to sing his song. He looked like he can sing, the way he holds the microphone tells me he has a lot of potential. The intro riff kicks in and he rocks back and forth on stage looking like he's about to fall off or something.
Then it's time for him to sing and although his voice sounded good for a couple of seconds, the alcohol coursing his veins made sure that it was all downhill from there. The people who, just earlier, were cheering for him now slowly sink their faces into their hands in utter shame and disgust.
My favorite part was when he realized that he was not going to get through singing Bakit Ngayon ka lang with his god awful, drunken monotone voice and he sorta just stepped down the stage and back into his and his friends' table. Everybody in the bar was pretty much perturbed with his performance and everyone's sort of dismayed and sad except for me of course. I was guzzling beer and laughing my ass off while thinking about how I got all erotic with this girl selling Sampaguita a couple of months ago.
That's all I have for you guys today. But before I go, I want to thank everybody who submitted their blogs to Dash Media. This round of submission is now closed and like I said before, out of the 100+ blogs we received, we are going to select 25 to represent the first batch of blogs we're gonna include in the network. Good luck everyone!
[I'd like to remind everybody that if you're female, the size of your puppies matters. So you know, take a picture of them and send them over to mike@dash-media.com. That is all]
I'm sorry to disappoint you guys, but if you're looking for entertainment I have nothing for you today. I will try to come up with something tomorrow but for now, you have to bear with me as I express the malicious satisfaction I get from my growing fame by posting a couple of interesting fan mail I got today. You know, just to rub the fact that I'm a fucking Internet Rockstar in your faces and you're nothing but a bunch of lame-ass, boring bloggers who write shit about how you upgraded your computer's memory or how your job sucks or whatever the fuck it is you slack-jawed yokels blog about.
I guess what I'm saying is that I HAVE FUCKING FANS, HOW AWESOME IS THAT? Also, I hate you all, and I wish you'd all just double up and die or something. Whatever.
From: DarkStar AE
To: Mike Villar
Idol ko!
At last I finally got around to writing my blog idol. I just want to air out the fact the I really love your work. Although I do put in a blog of my own, your "masterpiece", as I love to call it, is something I aspire to project. The sarcasm, the wit and the humor combined. Very impressive. Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention it also makes sense, too? =p As for my blog, it's not much but I'm getting there.
Frankly speaking, I agree with everyone when they say you're an asshole. But then again, so am I! hehehe… Is that a good thing? Well, just take it as a compliment - I know I would.
Don't worry this isn't one of those hate mails. hehehe… There are some assholes you want to promote from your asshole list to your hit list. Yet there are others you'd want on to be on the same side of the literary war.
When I get back to manila I'd like to have my picture taken with you and get your autograph! How's that for some plus points to your Internet Star personality? =D
Great work dude!
P.S. Let me guess… You're probably thinking right now if I'm some hot chick who'd probably be fantasizing about having your baby. Sorry to disappoint you, dude. Men read your man blogs. 
Cheers!
From: Airuh
To: Mike Villar
P.S. You still looking for someone to have wild, sloppy sex with?
Nah seriously, I might be the biggest douche and all but I really appreciate all your emails. I mean sure, I don't get to read all of them or I laugh at the awful spelling and grammar of some of the emails I do get to read, but I really do appreciate them. So you know, keep em coming. Also, if you haven't registered your blog over at Dash Media yet, you should! All the cool cats are doing it.
Quick update ladies and gentlemen. As you may all know by now, I've been working on a web project that, in due time, will make me the richest, sexiest man in the local Internet scene(I mean if I'm not that already).
Here's the deal, when I and fellow Man Blog editor Adam Mordo started Dash Media, we never thought that the initial response was going to be THIS good. As I write this post, we have tons of submissions and we're having a grand time going over all these awesome blogs. I even took the time to run a couple of the submitted email addresses through Friendster and Myspace and masturbated to a couple of pictures of hot girls I came across. (Just kidding. I don't remember whether or not I could exactly call the pictures I masturbated to "hot". Also, the gender of the people in said pictures are debatable.)
Seriously now, we're really overwhelmed, we never expected such a deluge of submissions and what we're going to do is keep this round of submissions open until the 28th of this month and from there, select 25 of the best blogs to represent the first batch of sites we're going to induct into the network. Also, in order to give the entire thing an additional touch of prestige, I'm thinking of giving free finger blasts to the first 10 women who'd get accepted to the network.(Free handjobs in case they're men. Either way works for me)
You know another thing I realized? I'm spending waaay too much time on the Internet. So much that it sort of feels weird whenever I step away from my computer to eat, pee, masturbate or whatever. I feel, I don't know, for the lack of a better word—Vulnerable.
My point is, I don't know, I don't think I even have a point other than “GOD I'M SO LONELY I'M WILLING TO SUCK A GRADE SCHOOL BOY'S BIRD FOR FEMALE COMPANIONSHIP”
But you know what? This loneliness is a temporary thing. I think I got myself a date on Friday (operative word being 'think' as she insists that it shouldn't be a date. God, I hope this means that we could forgo the entire “eating at a fancy restaurant, me trying my best to look not fazed after seeing how much the tab is, and finally collapsing into the arms of an unsuspecting restaurant patron, faking an epileptic seizure hoping that my date picks up the tab. And have pity sex with me” thing and just go straight to the pity sex part.
Also, my Ex girlfriend is flying in a couple of months from now and we sort of promised each other awesome angry sex with lots of cursing and hair pulling.
So you see, over the next three months, there's a good chance that I'll have sex twice with two different women!
Unprecedented. Unprecedented and pathetic.
But my penis can't complain, I bet he's all “What the fuck dude, I'm just happy I'm going to have sex with someone who's not your right hand.”
Oh by the way, to the potentially hot chick I'm going out with on Friday (you know who you are), SMS me or call me or whatever before that day. God knows I suck at these things. Thank you.
I have been on an indefinite hiatus from blogging recently. You see, for the past few weeks, I, along with a group of very talented individuals, have been conceptualizing a project that will attempt to pry the spotlight away from what are considered to be the "popular", mainstream blogs and train it on the slew of well written albeit, underappreciated blogs in the blogosphere.
In the Philippine blogosphere alone, I believe that there is a plethora of talent simply waiting to be discovered, and discover them we will.
So without further ado, I present to you The Dash Media Network:
We're currently accepting submissions for the first round of blogs we'll launch. So, if you think you have awesome content, head over to the site and let us know.
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?
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
