Someone Killed a Cat and Proudly Blogged about It

Imagine Mahal guesting one Sunday night on 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 towards 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 that 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 is with the public display of cruelty?

I Committed Suicide, So Sue Me

Some people say that suicide is a selfish act and I think I kind of agree with that. No one is exempted from the hardships we experience in this world. So share your problems! Share them with the world! And spare the people around you the burden of cleaning up your act.

Or if it really cannot be helped, at least I advise against using a gun. This weapon is a common choice for crimes so using it will only provoke suspicion of foul play. And that is bad for the people you leave behind. Instead of grieving the misfortune that has come upon them they are made to carry an additional burden of becoming suspects. That is so not cool. And that further proves that suicide is indeed, a selfish act.

I know it might be morbid to suggest but there are other ways. If you are an attention whore, you could choose to jump off a very high place. It could be a building or a billboard. If you want media attention, choose a billboard, if possible, one in EDSA. It would not be long before a TV news crew comes for a scoop. It would not be declared as foul play either, unless you managed to persuade someone to join you up there and that someone survives. It also gives you a good glimpse of the city before you exit to the other world.

John Regala’s Fans Day

I have 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 a diploma. My brother was one of them, HAHAHA! Last Friday, he graduated from the DepEd Alternative Learning System. He is 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 Hair Has a Mind of its Own

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 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.

Like an Army of Ants Attacking Your Face

The dermatologist said I have acne vulgaris. I cannot have acne vulgaris. Acne vulgaris is for teenagers. I am not a teenager. I am 23 years old. But I have acne vulgaris. So they said they would use injection on the big ones. Wait a second, what? Injection? You have got to be kidding me.

You see, I have nothing against pimples. I do not give a rat's ass if I end up a walking pimple farm or pimples with a face. If we could harmoniously co-exist then I am okay with that. Be your very own facial tourists! I will be your island. But when they began to act like facial terrorists I knew I had to do something. But good old Panoxyl was not working anymore.

It must be the fact that the face is closer to the brain so that an accidental hand-to-pimple interaction feels like Pacquaio practicing his boxing skills on you. I cannot tolerate pain like masochists would happily do. So these facial tourists turned terrorists must die! I knew I needed help. I needed professional help! And so I ended up with the dermatologist and her arsenal of mini injections, a.k.a. pimple annihilators.
 

25 Random Things About Dan

Rules: Once you have 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 is because I want to know more about you.

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 on the Internet. Before you get a restraining order consider that I do not 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.

I Killed Someone and an Indonesian Man Got Arrested for It

I could not remember much. I was standing behind a car in a garage. The trunk was open and in it was a large sack drenched in blood. I looked at it with fear and resentment. I knew there was a body inside. A dead human body. As to how it ended up dead I had no idea. I just knew that there was a dead body inside and I was quite certain that it was I who did the dirty crime. I shut the car trunk, locked it, and went upstairs.

I chatted with two men but I could not recall what it was about. I was disturbed. I could not get the thought of rotting in prison out of my head. I would be arrested. I would live my life behind bars while the people who used to be part of my life raise their own families and get filthy rich. More than the regret of having taken a human life I was more concerned about life passing me by. See, when something tragic happens in your life, whether doing some crime or finding out that you have terminal cancer, the world would not stop for you. You get left behind. I went out of the garage and disappeared into the night.

Jeepney Decorum

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 do not 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 has 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 7 PM. 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 do not 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 did not try to find out. And so I treated him as if he did not exist even when the smoke was all around the jeepney.

Lost... in Translation

Lost is an American soap opera about an island plane crashing in the Pacific, Kang Man-ing in the tropical jungle (whatever that means), and a night in the face of all the bile sounds mysterious biological warfare. For enlightenment, this is what the DVD cover says:

A story from the perspective of occupational doctors Jack start an airliner crashed in the Pacific Ocean on an island, 48 passengers fortunate survivors. Not good medical care, Jack can only use the most rudimentary way people will be dying one to save. In the struggle for survival in the process, Jack became heroes. However, even if there are ulterior heroes will be a secret... The drama for the year 2004 most worth watching soap operas on television. ABC television in the United States spending huge sums - Hawaii filming, the whole story ups and downs, brought actor performances, has become a prime-time TV ratings were the highest one.

New Year's Resolutions

TALK LOUDER.

When 90% of the people you talk to everyday say Ha? and put their ears closer just to hear you that does not mean all of them are deaf. Perhaps the problem is with the volume of your voice. I am guilty of this because this is what my brother and I have been accustomed to. Our voices are always set on Ascending. Just to give you an idea:

BROTHER: *&@^%$#! *%^ %#$* &%)&! @$ )&%&#& (inaudible).

ME: Ano?

BROTHER: Pa@^ku#! *%^ yung &%)ro @$ kwar#&! (low).

ME: Leche magsalita ka ng maayos diyan tsitsinelasin kita!

BROTHER: PAKIKUHA NGA YUNG LIBRO SA KWARTO! BINGE!

Christmas: the Mood vs. the Event

As a kid, I looked forward to Christmas day. It was that one event every year when you get to see people you only see once in a blue moon. You receive presents wrapped in colorful wrappers and the elders of the clan manage to convince you to do something scandalous like dancing to the tune of The Sign or singing an off key version of Jose Mari Chan's Perfect Christmas. And since it is Christmas day your neighbors could not complain. They probably would not because they are doing it too.

However, as one grows old the once beautifully wrapped presents turn into envelopes, the content of which you already know (A Little Tykes truck would not fit in there, now would it?) That relative you see once a year tells you for the umpteenth time na pumayat ka. By then, you get paranoid and think that maybe you are anorexic and just do not know it. Or perhaps you have an undiagnosed cancer. But after consulting the weighing scale you figure out that the person just did not have anything else to say and it would be boring to talk about the weather on Christmas day. Whoa, did that just rhyme? Dr Seuss!