ihcahieh

Imagine Mahal guesting one Sunday night at Sharon. The host suddenly grabs her by the ankle and hurls her “wrestling-style” towards the audience. Sprawled on the floor, the clueless midget watches in horror as the TV show host, all 250 lbs of her (can someone confirm Sharon’s weight?), runs to her, launches herself into the air, and stomps the vertically challenged Kokey star once, twice, thrice…

Of course this did not really happen, but a similar fate was met by a clueless kitten living as a collective pet in UP - Diliman’s National Institute of Physics building. I think it was last week when a student of theirs did to the cat what Sharon did to Mahal in the imaginary scenario in the first paragraph. The witnesses said that the animal did not die right away. Instead, it fled the scene, vomited blood, and eventually died. Now let me ask, what’s with the public display of cruelty?

What’s worse is that the person who did it proudly blogged about it in his Multiply site with no sign of remorse whatsoever. In fact he was proud about it and even referred to himself as the “Serial Cat-Killer.” He said that he has an innate hatred for cats. Perhaps, killing them gives him a different kind of high. Unfortunately many netizens were alarmed by the disturbing blog entry and started to react to the blog post. After a few days the news reached 24 Oras but the identity of the “Serial Cat Killer” was not divulged. The dean of the College of Science already issued a statement that they would deliberate upon the appropriate disciplinary action for this incident in accordance to the rules and regulations of the university.

So what? We kill chickens and pigs for food, don’t we?

Some people actually defend this Serial Cat Killer, saying that as human beings we also kill livestock, and yes, even cats (siopao, anyone?) because we eat them for survival. Well, I don’t think that justifies the action of this deranged potential future serial killer. We are carnivorous and we kill animals for food, yes, but not for fun. I guess the real issue here is not the act of killing, but the intention for doing so. And straight from the horse’s mouth the kid said, “Trip lang.“

If he was dirt poor and dying of extreme hunger that he had to result to killing that feline for food then I would have understood. But he did it for no particular reason at all. Trip lang. If the creature was annoying him in some way or attacking him with its claws then he could have claimed self-defense. But no, according to the witnesses the clueless pusa was minding its own business when it was assaulted. In short, trip lang.

I wonder if his fans would still think and feel the same way if this person suddenly gets tired of killing felines and starts targeting humans for a change. Kasi trip lang. Bring him to a psychiatrist, he badly needs professional help. And keep him away from PETA, they might skin him alive. Maybe one day I could introduce him to my pet, Mufasa, a.k.a. Simba’s daddy. Or Uncle Scar. I’d like to see him play with them. Trip lang.

On the contrary I also understand the animal discrimination issue. When you experiment on a lab rat and get it killed in the process, is that not Animal Cruelty? What makes killing a cat, or a dog, or your pet pig of five years any different from killing that lab rat? Or that kitten that this “Serial Cat Killer” victimized? Honestly I don’t know. Perhaps, the intention? But if I kill them for fun I certainly won’t announce it to the world like he did. I guess that was his mistake. Idiot.

I’ve never been to a graduation ceremony where the participants were more eager to have their picture taken with a certain actor, rather than a picture of themselves with their toga and diploma. My brother was one of them, hahaha! Last Friday he graduated from the DepEd Alternative Learning System. He’s finally going to college at St. Benilde, bringing the tally of La Salistas within the inner circle of the clan to seven.

The ceremony was lackluster to say the least. There were 701 graduates from different divisions, and we had to hear their names called one by one. That would have been okay, if the names matched the faces. Unfortunately my brother was called “Michelle” when he went up the stage, and the brawny man in his late twenties who followed him was announced as “Joanna.”

My brother thought it was boring. I thought it was fun. It shows you how inefficient the Department of Education is when it comes to organizing events like this. Nitpicking heaven.

As already mentioned John Regala became the unlikely highlight of the event. In fact the event became his unofficial fans day. Poor guy, his Japanese looking children wanted to go home but daddy was stuck with a throng of camwhores who wanted a graduation souvenir photo.

My brother and my mother even had a debate. My brother insisted that John Regala’s wife is Japanese, hence the Japanese looking children. My mother disagreed. She said that the wife is Filipina. Munching on my outrageously overpriced bacon hotdog sandwich, I didn’t really give a shit. But I would have answered that the wife is female if they asked my opinion.

Congratulations graduates!

The first time I had my hair shaved five years ago my mother stopped talking to me for three days. She was quite convinced that I joined a fraternity, and according to her getting rid of my hair was a requirement. My newly shaved head felt good but it did not look good because it has a weird shape, very much like an egg. But more than an egghead I looked more like a homo extra-terrestrial who had a speech volume impediment. A few weeks later I qualified for a game show and I appeared on national TV looking just like that, preserving the embarrassment for generations to come.

Now I am back sporting the same hairstyle (or lack of it) for the second time around, but with facial hair unshaved I look more like an escaped death row inmate and less like E.T.’s less popular cousin. I could also look like a cocaine addict, if my eye bags cooperate. Nevertheless, it feels good, specially for people like me who suffer bouts of psoriasis very often. At least now I know I will get rid of that damned skin ailment rapidly, for now. Perhaps in six months, along with the hair, it will come back. Who am I kidding, of course it will come back. But at least not after six months.

My hair has a mind of its own, and people judge me depending on its current state. When my hair is long people mistake me for a lot of things. My mother calls me “taong-labas,” the meaning of which I still don’t have a clue. I wonder if there exists a “taong-loob.” Sometimes she would refer to me as “tauhan ni Bin Laden,” which I think is worse because she thinks I actually look like a terrorist. But the cashiers at fast food chains think otherwise.

They refer to me as Ma’m, and for the utterly confused they just play it safe by calling me Ma’m-Sir, which turns me into some sort of hermaphrodite. I look a bit androgynous but I wear men’s clothes. Neither do I have boobs to suggest that I belong to the opposite sex. The world sometimes goes insane, and I’m always one of its victims. Thanks to my hair.

For now I am just relieved. I no longer have to give a damn on how to dry them. And I’ll be consuming less shampoo. The facial terrorists will no longer have any allies (My hair would usually go to my face and infect the pimples). And it is just in line with the newly launched I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit-What-You-Think-About-Me-So-Just-Live-Your-Own-Life-You-Freaking-A**hole self-esteem recovery program.

I am still thinking of dyeing it white. Perhaps gray. Or silver. Maybe platinum blonde. But I will just reserve that for September, after six months, once they have grown back to considerable length. So now I am more than ever subject to various reactions such as: “Sayang naman!” (Usually the barber’s reaction before reluctantly shaving that amount of hair), and “Anong nangyari sa buhok mo?” which really is a rhetorical question. But given the chance I would answer either: “I ate them.” Or “I pulled them off one by one as an act of penance for what I did to those who asked the same question.” (And then wide evil grin). It’s like asking people what they do in motels and movie houses.

Perhaps the question should be, “Bakit mo pinaganyan ang buhok mo?” which is definitely not the same to “Anong nangyari sa buhok mo.” I appreciate it better when people joke “Nice hair!” at least it makes me laugh.

Bye hair, see you after six months.

O ayan na. Lintik lang ang walang ganti, lol.

Tagged by Anne Marie de Jesus, Barbra Joie Limcumpao, Anna Espeleta, Crizelle Ramos, and Augustine Kristoffer Pangan.

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “NOTES” under tabs on your “PROFILE” page (you may have to add the tab by clicking on the + sign), click on “Compose New Message” and paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app then click publish.)

1. I am used to writing very looooong blog entries. But I think most people are not used to reading them, hahaha.

2. I gave my Nokia 6210 to a hypnotist. Take note: GAVE, not SNATCHED nor HELD-UP. I think they call them Budol-Budol Gang. Blow by blow account of this half a decade year old incident on next week’s blog article.

3. I stalk people via the Internet. Before you get a restraining order consider that I don’t have the slightest intention to blackmail or kidnap you. Ang feeling mo naman, hayop ka. These social sites are public domain and if you put details here that you consider private and would not like to share, why did you upload them in the first place? Idiot. I look at your contact list to see if we have common acquaintances. I look at your pictures to assess your general behavior. I look at your info wall to see if you speak a language that I might be studying at the moment. I look at your blog to see if you talk sense. As simple as that.

4. I am addicted to Nerds. Not the people with big glasses but the candy in square cartons. Red/Green is my favorite. Yellow/Red is an acceptable alternative. Violet/Pink is last resort. Blue/Green is out of the question. If Willy Wonka would adopt me I would be very glad, as long as he takes care of my then eventual diabetes related expenses.

5. When I was a kid I wanted to be a pilot like my uncle. Until Mathematics bitch slapped me with 77’s and 79’s during my freshman year in high school. And then I didn’t want to be a pilot anymore.

6. Math hates me. And I hate Math. The feeling is mutual.

7. Strange enough I am interested in useless information, some of which involve numbers. I am addicted to TV Ratings (Mega Manila only, nationwide is corny), Box Office Results (both North American and Philippine), Oscar winners and peculiarities (honestly, when will Meryl Streep overtake Katharine Hepburn’s four Oscar WINS?) and world geography (is it true that they changed South Africa’s capital from Capetown to Pretoria? When did this happen?)

8. I am currently learning how to play the piano and the violin. I started with the latter but have had more significant progress with the former. I need every day to practice the violin. I don’t have every day. That’s sad. But at least I can now bow Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

9. My current job is boring me to death. I have no issues with being a bum and doing nothing. In fact I can be Super Bum. But sitting in front of a computer for 12 hours and receiving only 2 calls, even that can be boring for Super Bum. If you thought your job was boring, think again. Or let’s compare notes.

10. Like one of my cousins who tagged me, I never get fat. The pediatrician said I have a thyroid problem. According to a certain website I should eat more than 2000 calories a day and around 150 grams of protein in order to gain weight. A Wendy’s Baconator has 56 grams of protein. So should I eat three Baconators a day and try my luck in getting fat?

11. I don’t speak a lot. Normally I won’t say anything unless I am spoken to first. Right now my default accent when I speak English is Aussie, which means I slur my o’s, turn my ei’s to ai’s, and pronounce t with more than the usual aspiration.

12. I am usually catatonic. If you see me staring blankly ahead, don’t worry I am not yet dead (Rhyme! Rhyme!) More often than not I would probably just be lost in thought, thinking about the next five years, budgeting the remaining time for the day, or wasting time regretting things that have already come to pass. This is normal for me.

13. My favorite color is green. But when it comes to colors black has been my preference for a long time now. Black is always formal. Black goes with any other color. Black is the color of boredom. Black is the color of darkness. Black is supreme.

14. I acknowledge three personalities. The first is the social one. Present during the host body’s birth, he went on a coma for many years. He is trying to stage a comeback now and wants the intellectual one to get fired from his job. He is cyrokinetic. He likes to dance. He feels comfortable in the ice skating rink. He likes France and the French language.

15. The intellectual one is the dominant entity. He took over when education became the primary reason for the host body’s existence. He learns different languages non-stop, and has found his own method of doing so. He lives in the real world and bases his decisions on pragmatism and rationality, unlike the other one who lives in fictional Utopia. He is telekinetic, or wants to think that he is when he has the luxury to waste time.

16. The third one is wrathful and malevolent. He is pyrokinetic. He refers to men as “morons,” to women as “bitches,” and to anyone in general as “idiots.” He likes to ax-kick people. He has a very short temper. He wants to learn Russian and German but the intellectual one won’t permit it until 2010. He is dormant right now but like the social one, he wants the intellectual one fired from his job. He is evil. He likes listening to Britney Spears’ Womanizer. He likes to dye our hair white. Weird, I know.

17. I don’t intend to live past 60. Would you? How boring is that.

18. If ever I get to have a kid of my own I would name him Pietro, or her Elvira. Pietro because it sounds cool. Elvira because it sounds old-school bitchy. The mother could choose the second name, if we are binded by law.

19. Being the language geek that I am, I wasn’t able to learn Bahasa Malaysia even when I lived in that country for nine months. I always attribute this to lack of interest. I am trying to learn it again now. I’ve just completed my Tahun Satu (Elementary One) kiddie school books, proceeding to Tahun Dua next week, up to Tahun Enam (Elementary Six), then high school 1 - 4, then KBSR.

20. I have the bad habit of glaring at people. No, Medusa and I are not related. Neither am I interested to breed with you. It’s just something that I’ve gotten so used to doing and is just quite difficult to unlearn. Further explanation in a future blog entry.

21. I am retarded and arrogant. I love theme parks and kiddie parks. And parks in general. If I see monkey bars, swings, and see-saws I get a little bit agitated though you might not notice it. If I see a roller coaster I would suddenly disappear, and the next thing you’ll know I’m already on it. I am arrogant, as is obvious in my blog entries. You just think otherwise because like I said I seldom speak.

22. My face has a singular uniform expression. I lack the human capability to express excitement or happiness. They are very hard emotions to fake. I don’t do them convincingly. This makes people around me a little bit uneasy. Don’t worry. The problem is not you. It’s me.

23. I inherited my mother’s brown eyes and her Gollum teeth. No, for the umpteenth time I am not wearing contact lenses. And no, you won’t see me smile that much because I don’t want to. Perhaps a little bit but not very often. I have an overbite and my teeth so hate one another that they decided to keep considerable distance from each other. Yes, I am thinking of getting braces. Braces at 23. Damn, this is so Betty.

24. Southpark is the only TV show on Earth that can regularly make me laugh. Eric Cartman beats the hell out of Steve Carrell in the comedy department. Jesus has his own talk show. Satan gets to sing in falsetto, while having a duet with Saddam. Terrence and Phillip fart and slap people for no particular reason. Matt and Trey are the best.

25. I have three 5.0’s in Diliman. Mathematics 17, Mathematics 100, and Economics 190.1. Cumulative total of 12 units repeated. Did I mention I hate Math? I have five 1.0’s in Diliman. Spanish 10, Spanish 11, Spanish 12, Spanish 13, and Geography 1 (where only an idiot would not get a 1.0.) Oops, sorry kung may natamaan! Shet I’m so evil, hahaha.

The jeepney is a form of transportation unique here in the Philippines. Riding it everyday is an adventure. You get to sit very close to people you don’t know, some of whom have not yet met the term “hygiene.” You give them your trust by passing your fare believing that none of them would pocket it. And you wonder how the driver actually takes note of who have already paid and who have not. Or perhaps they just rely on karma, as is said on that mini wooden board: God knows Hudas not pay.

While in Makati smoking in the jeepney is punishable by law we just have a few fellowmen who seem to think that they are somehow above the city ordinances. Like what happened to me a few weeks back. And so the story goes like this:

I woke up late and the clock said 7PM. I knew I would be late so I gave my supervisor a ring to advise him about it. The jeep I boarded was full so I had to sit beside a man smoking his cigarette near the driver. I don’t like people blowing smoke on my face. But then again what can I do? He was chit chatting with the driver. Whether they were lovers or perhaps just beer buddies, I didn’t try to find out. And so I treated him as if he did not exist even when the smoke was all around the jeepney.

When he was done smoking he faced my direction and threw his cigarette out of the window, almost scraping my arm. I wanted to apprehend the bastard but what would I get for that? Besides, we were almost at my destination and nothing bad really happened. I will just let it pass and pray that he dies of lung cancer. The short journey ended at the corner of EDSA - Pasong Tamo and so I knocked on the wooden roof of the jeepney to signal the driver that I was about to get off.

I was about to face the entrance of the jeep when the retard grabbed my wrist and told me: “Pasok! Pasok!” I was a little bit freaked out by this unsolicited sarcastic remark. What the hell does he want? He looked me in the eye and added, “Kailangan kakatok? E pwede namang sabihing PARA!“

When someone does this to me that formerly nameless entity surfaces and usually axe kicks people. Although impossible in that jeep I believe I could have still landed a roundhouse kick on the moron’s face to make sure that he remains toothless for life. I wanted to introduce his face to the sole of my left shoe while shouting, “Putang Ina kaaaaaaaa!Ordinance offender, meet the sole of my GBX!!! Hiyaaaa!”

But then again I was late and in a hurry. If I indeed kicked the asshole there would have been more damage to take care of like going to the police or something. It just irks me that someone who violates a city law would have the guts to lecture me on how to properly ask a jeepney driverto stop. I don’t think knocking on a jeepney roof to signal “Stop” would blast any eardrums as bad as second hand smoke could molest one’s nostrils. Good thing the bus ride after that was hassle free.

I would encounter more people like this in the future and one lesson I have learned is just to keep cool when in this kind of situation. Road travel in this country has always been a pain in the ass with all the traffic, undisciplined drivers, and undisciplined commuters. Praise the Lord that I’m not pyrokinetic. Otherwise, many unruly commuters would have already met a fiery demise.

God knows Hudas not pay.

And Lung Cancer knows who smokes in places where it is forbidden. Amen to that.