Again sorry for not being able to post any updates recently. The past week has simply been a flurry of alcoholic activity and I was either too high and drunk to post or I was spending time with a group of Korean kids who held me captive in a basement for a week and taught me the intricate art of cockfighting. The trick, I learned, was to double up in a fetal position to protect yourself, wait for the perfect opportunity to strike and always go for the other cock's neck. But I digress. Also, if you're turning to my blog for entertainment during the Holiday season, you SERIOUSLY need a new hobby.
Anyway, let's start off with the evening of December 23rd–the event we arbitrarily called The 2006 Man Blog Alcohol Extravaganza an event which, sadly, was better off dubbed as The 2006 Man Blog Sausagefest; the reason being the ratio of female attendees to male attendees was a dismal 2:3. This would've been easily forgivable of course if the aforementioned girls weren't Adam's wife, somebody who has a boyfriend or a rug muncher.
[Not that I'd be interested in the first place being that I'm inlove, engaged and all that shit. I LOVE YOU BABY! TEE-HEE! err..]
The Sausagefest didn't exactly get off to a good start. First of all, the venue was down south over at Macapagal Avenue, a place which is at least 40 minutes away in light to moderate traffic. We were supposed to meet up around 8pm so I asked Adam to pick me up in ortigas at around 7pm. What we failed to take into consideration were:
It's the 23rd. Two days before Christmas.
Filipinos, being genetic procrastinators, are notorious for last minute shopping, and as a corollary, clogging up every fucking street in the metro.
My STD which makes my penis smell like cottage cheese. No wait…
Okay, suffice it to say that Adam got himself into a really bad traffic jam on his way to pick me up and arrived around 7:40pm. So I'm like "Yeah, so we're going to be late 20 minutes. Big deal. I'm sure they'll wait. I mean, I'm Mike "Fucking" Villar. Who wants to fistfight?"
8pm– we were still negotiating the traffic in Buendia Avenue and I am starting to get restless; and amongst the many of my undersirable qualities, the worst has to be my mood swings. My fiancee always complains about this and when I'm in the bad end of one of my mood swings, I become even more emotionally incapable than I am physically and that is saying a lot since most of the time, I need my mom to brush my teeth or put a shirt on. But when I get myself into a foul mood, that's it; there's no changing it and the only thing I can do is wait it out.
So for the rest of the trip to Macapagal Avenue, although unnoticed by people around me, I began throwing mental tantrums usually to complain about:
The traffic which is getting in the way of me and the start of a night filled with glorious drinking
The fact that I want to make out and/or have sex right now but my fiancee being away for at least four more months and the fact that I am broke as fuck no thanks to my ginormous credit card bills–a fact that renders me incapable of visiting my "other girlfriend", Number 21, getting a massage from her and alleviating aforementioned make out/sexual urges.
After what seems to be an eternity, we finally got to the venue and met up with fellow Man Blog editors Steel, Ade, Bim and Coco as well as lone female attendee/Forum regular Joni. A couple of awkward minutes were spent on pleasantries and trying to size up one another for hints of being bisexual (Can't blame us really. Being that the event is a borderline sausagefest and we were all determined not to go home empty handed and at least get ourselves a little ass play action)
This disappointed me further and after we got ourselves settled in the grill we're going to spend the evening at, I wasted no time drinking at an alarmingly rapid rate and getting myself bombed. I really can't find any words to describe how quickly this happened, so I'm going to let pictures do the talking here:
This is me, acting within decorum, looking all homosexual and shit before any alcoholic beverages were served.
This is me approximately 20 minutes after the first bottle of beer was served: Trying to strike a Bryanboy pose but instead only succeeding in looking like a really sweaty homeless guy who got cornered by cops after running away with somebody's bag. Joni smiles trying her best to look like she's having a good time when in reality she's all "Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into. I really want to go home now."
So you could only imagine how quickly things turned ugly. First of all, considering that besides Adam and myself, nobody really knew each other and there were a lot of awkward attempts (mostly on my part) to break the ice. There were a lot of:
Me: So what do you do for a living dude?
Coco: Like I told you three times already, I run the family business.
Me: [acting surprised, sweating] Really, you told me already? Because if you did, I honestly can't remember…
Coco: Dude, are you alright? You look pretty drunk. Maybe you can rest in the car while we wrap this thing up–
Me: Nah dude, it's alright. So how's China this time of year man?
Coco: I really wouldn't know man.
Me: I thought you took care of your family's business in China?
Coco: Dude, that's Joni.
Me: [Smoking two cigarettes simultaneously] Same shit dude. Really, how's China? Pretty cold I take it?
Since I was drunk out of my mind early, I really don't remember much of what happened that night. I really don't remember much of what happened that night given that I was drunk as fuck. I do remember trying to pull of a Mike Villar Classic escape sometime around 1am–a manuever I employ when I'm too drunk to even keep my eyes open or zip my fly after I take a piss. This manuever inlolves me telling somebody that "I need to make a call" and pretending to talk on my cellie to a "business associate" only to find myself, only a couple of minutes later, eating Tokwa't baboy at a Pares place while sweating and cursing, or doing a Hand Solo while watching porn on my computer.
This didn't work out as well as I wanted to after I realized that I don't have a car and that there is no way in hell I'm going to take a cab home given the sorry state I am in. Well I did blackout somewhere along the way. I know this because upon looking at my phone the morning after, it seems that I was trying to send text messages to my fiancee, trying to say "Baby, I love you so much. Please don't leave me. I promise I'll try to change and not drink as much" but only went as far as typing "Baby Ikv somcn! Imnthdrn! I lvc yo!"
Also, I remember ordering a Frostee over at Wendy's after I dropped off Joni and Ade. I don't remember much of this either but I'm guessing I acted like a total douche in front of the service crew because I vaguely recall the person behind the counter saying something to the effect of "My Lord and Savior Jesus Christ will punish you for that!" What could I have done to elicit such a comment? I would never know.
Lastly, I woke up the day after with minor cuts and bruises on my arm. I honestly don't know how I got them. For all I know, I got into a fight with a couple of homeless people over a Siopao. But then again, since my brain was like "Hey tubs, It's four o'clock, I don't know about you, but I'm closing shop. Good night" I, again, will never know.
Merry Christmas to everyone! And if I ever don't make it out of our annual New Year's Eve Alcohol/Cholesterol Extravaganza alive, I'm going to wish you a happy new year too.
Activities:
Celebrities expected to attend:
Dropping by?
Call or text me at 0918-6250544
I am a nasty drunkard (surprise!)
I've been trying to deny this fact for as long as I can remember. Besides, Dictionary.com defines Drunkard as
a person who is habitually or frequently drunk.
I don't know whether or not in order to be a drunkard, one must be both habitually and frequently drunk because seriously, I'm only frequently drunk and not habitually so you know, I've always seen this issue as debatable.
Nevermind the fact that the assholes over at CitiBank have long been plotting to abduct my mother and my brother and hold them for ransom until I fork over some cash to partially pay for the tens and thousands of Pesos I owe them. Money I spent on alcohol, expensive prostitutes, cocaine and guns (just a few).
Also let's not take into account the fact that I woke up last Sunday with a crippling hangover and proceeded to devour three packs of Kornets, accidentally bit my fingertip off while sucking on residual cheese left on my fingers, bled the fuck all over the place before finally passing out in my bed.
But I've been thinking about it lately because seriously, I'm getting into a hell lot of trouble for my drinking. The most recent one being when I was appointed Master of Ceremonies for our recently concluded company christmas party. (Yeah, I don't know how the hell this happened, but obviously, somebody's not doing their job and that somebody deserves to be fired for this lapse of judgment)
For the most part, the Christmas party went on without incident. I was rolling full throttle with my unstoppable comedy machine and the crowd looked like they were having a good time. The wheels came off when some genius decided to hand me a glass of Red Horse in the middle of the ceremony.
Now, I am not a virgin insofar as speaking in front of huge crowds is concerned but you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that when you give Mike "Fucking" Villar beer on such occasions, he'll keep asking for more and NOBODY will come out a winner.
True enough, after a couple of copious refills, I quickly found myself on a level of drunkenness that is not suitable for such social occasions. At first I was making tasteless, inappropriate, albeit forgivable jokes about the people who lost their homes to the recent super typhoon. But then, no thanks to my alcohol level and my own disgusting douchebaggery, I decided to turn things up a notch. My Pièce de résistance being the time when I was discussing the mechanics of a game called "Pin the nose on frosty the snowman" which is a game blatantly ripped off from a parlor game called "Pin the tail on the donkey". Now this may sound simple to you, but try going up there with about two liters of Red Horse in your system and let's see who's calling who a wino. Asshole. Anyway, it went something like this:
Me: [Sweating profusely] Okay now who among you are familiar with this game?
Crowd: [Silence. Some people laughing at how much I sweat and how fat I am]
Me: This is really not hard people. We're going to blindfold you and you have to pin this paper nose on that paper representation of Frosty the Snowman [pointing over to a board where the printout is]
Crowd: [Nodding, starting to understand]
Me: It's very similar to that parlor game called Pin the DICK on the donkey
Crowd: [Collective gasp]
Me: What you haven't heard of Pin the DICK on the donkey before?
My bosses: [Sinking their heads into their hands]
No big deal really. I don't really see myself being fired over this because my bosses, of their stature, know how to see past silly faux pas' and minor errors attributed to drunkenness (Although, I'm wondering why they cleared my desk this morning and why my stuff has been organized neatly in a small box). But hey, if you're working for a company that has an opening for a Marketing Consultant, please let me know. I promise not to steal office supplies or "accidentally" barge in the girls' comfort room pretending im blind. I mean it's not like I do it here but–Im digging myself a deeper hole here so I'll just shut up now.
But then again are you really going to attend a Christmas Party prepared by guys who look like this? I didn't think so.
Let me tell you another story that will validate my being a worthless drunkard. Last saturday, I went on a barcrawl across Metro Manila with some guy friends. I will not delight you with stories that happened during the nine hour affair because seriously, the most interesting story I have happens at the latter part of it.
After drinking in a total of five bars (QC, Makati, The Fort), we were finishing up our act at some bar over at the Fort so we asked the waiter to bring us over the bill (which I offered to pay because James brought over wonderful drugs that kept us happy all night and Ray is broke as hell so I can't really oblige them to split it with me)
So I was looking at the bill right? But being on the tail end of a drinking tour, drunk and high as I am, I can't figure it out and how much it amounted to. So I call the waiter over and asked for his assistance. Hilarity ensues:
Me: [slurring, sweating profusely] Excuse me, but I don't remember ordering this [pointing to a random item on the bill] can you just tell me how much the total is so we can pay and get out of here?
Waiter: [Alarmed and worried at the same time] Um sir, that's the menu.
I am not even going to dignify my actions with an explanation. All I'm going to say is "wow."
If you think you can impress women whom you just met by telling them a cock and bull story about how you once made out with a gorgeous girl and showing them a supposed picture of said girl you printed off the internet then placed in your wallet, you are sadly mistaken. Especially if it's this girl.
I really want to tell you guys about this but it's really too soon to talk about it. I'm still hurt.
One thing I'm very good at is apologizing to you guys for the lack of updates in this blog. And because I'm so good at it, I am going to do just that right NOW. Damnit, Im good! Seriously though, if you're looking for something entertaining to read (And I know you assholes read my blog because you find reading about how much I suck "entertaining"), you won't find it here. At least not now. You see, the end of Q4 marks some of the busiest days in our company and my struggle to be more efficient at what I do here at work has been nothing short of an uphill battle with a lot of:
My boss saying: "Mike, I need you to send the [some marketing collateral I barely know anything about]
and him meaning: "Mike, I need you to send the [some marketing collateral I barely know anything about]
And:
Me saying: "No problem. I'm on it."
when what I really meant was: "I have no fucking Idea what he means. And even if I did, I probably don't know how to do it. So I'm going to spend the next 15 minutes flipping the fuck out, delegating a crapload of stuff to people and generally acting like I know what I'm doing."
Then like an hour later:
My boss: "So were you able to send it?"
Me: [Staring blankly at an unfinished joke about the French and retards on my word processor] "Oh I didn't know you wanted me to send it now. Sorry"
Then finally after another hour:
Me: [Reading a memo served to me, Crying] I'M SORRY!!!!! I'M REALLY REALLY SO–[Muffled because I'm eating a Sans Rival from Burger Machine in between sobs]
So yeah, I fucking suck. But please, stop badgering me for updates because I really can't afford to lose my job. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to land a job because a simple Google query on my name will lead people to my blog, a blog which automatically makes me ineligible for any form of legitimate employment. Thanks.
–
Also, I would like to express the malicious satisfaction I get from all the activity the Friendster account I recently created has been showing. The testimonials I get from weird strangers and friends alike are enough to send me to a trip down Ego Masturbation Lane many times over. Of course my favorite testimonials are from foxes I've never even met before:
Normally, I would hit up these chicks and trick them into meeting up with me; meetings which would invariably end in date rape or a really nasty incident involving chloroform, burritos and dirty underwear. But I won't because I'm engaged and you know, because I love my fiancee so much that even thinking about cheating on her is out of the question. (Yeah I know. You're boring too.)
So yeah, if you haven't added me on Friendster yet, you should. Or your nipples will fall off.
Yesterday I got upset over something. Something which I won't get into detail anymore because as with most of the things I get upset over, it's something that's both silly and puerile. I decided that the best way to alleviate said feeling is to drop by the convenience store on my way home from work and pick up 3 liters of strong beer.
I can't drink alone of course as that would be even more pathetic. So I decided to give my good buddy Marco (not to be confused with Marco, the site guy as he doesn't drink and wears skirts and has a vagina) and invite him over my place for some ass play—guy friend comfort, I mean(this isn't any better, fuck). I should mention that Marco is one of my best friends growing up here in The QC; a hardcore boozer I've spent many a midnight sloshed and high at a pares place, yelling inappropriate things at other drunks and women patrons. But mostly women. Much to my dismay, Marco begged off citing “Being married, having work at 4 am, taking care of his health by watching his drinking and something about growing a vagina where his penis used to be” as some of his reasons.
Okay, first of all, I am not going to go down the “Married life is so fucking stupid” path because I know there's quite a number of you here who read this great blog are women who are married or getting married and you'd probably send me assloads of emails saying, “Well that's what husbands are supposed to do asshole, they take care of their family and become responsible.” (Stupid, stupid fucking Women I swear to God. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that women like these were the butt ends of scorn and disdain from their respective husbands' friends and they'd sink their mangy harpy claws at any guy who thinks having fun while married is actually possible) Besides, I myself am getting married to a really wonderful girl two years from now, and sooner or later, I must come to terms with this reality.
But wow, Marco watching his drinking. Watching his fucking drinking. Wow. This coming from a guy I've seen on a totally different level of drunkenness so many times in my life; from a guy who got so drunk and high one time he gave away his wallet in a bar to some random girl and gave a cab driver a handjob because he didn't have money on him to pay for his fare. This really comes a shock to me.
So I'm left with a really tough choice. I have three liters of beer with me and nobody to drink with. I could go ahead and drink all of it by myself and end up getting so drunk that I would shit on my own hands and throw it at passing cars afterwards; OR, I could drink with my uncle Edgar who's staying with us indefinitely.
Now a few qualms about drinking with somebody twice as old as I am: First, what the hell are we supposed to talk about? I mean I could imagine somebody who's over 50 years old being into stuff like politics, economics, extra-terrestrial life or whatever boring stuff 50 year-olds talk about. Second, he's still my uncle And uncles have this penchant for being pains in the ass and being overly critical of their nephews' lifestyles particularly their healths. Now for somebody who guzzles beer like a maniac and smokes like two cigarettes simultaneously every 5 minutes, this is not good.
Much to my surprise, my uncle wasn't so bad after all. He talked, and in better detail than I could ever hope to deliver, about how faulty and superfluous James Patterson's prose is and about how life should just be one ginormous fuckfest especially for young people like myself. (Although I disagree on him with regards to that fuckfest bit. I believe that young people, ENGAGED young people like myself especially, should commit themselves to a life of changing for the better; a life of waiting for their Fiancees while they spend 5 hours shopping for shoes; a life of blissful monogamy where you have sex with only one partner. Again, Mayne baby, if you're reading this, I love you)
So yeah, while my friend Marco was busy preparing milk for his baby and probably at the end of his wits enduring hours of nagging from his fat wife, my uncle Edgar and I drank three liters of Red Horse and two bottles of Gran Matador brandy; enjoying a profound discourse on the intricacies of a man's life while Mick Jagger and the rest of the 'Stones play background music for us.
God, I love to drink.
–
In an effort to be more intimate with my readers, I've created a brand spanking new Friendster account! ADD ME UP! MY EMAIL ADDRESS IS MIKE.VILLAR [AT] GMAIL [DOT] COM! And like most people who use Friendster, I've learned to gauge the value of my existence to the number of testimonials I get. So you know, make me one!
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
