tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83143973966531906812024-03-21T01:50:25.653-07:00because indifference is a crime...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-54572734092692102092009-04-17T09:18:00.000-07:002009-04-17T09:24:27.656-07:00CLOSED<span style="font-size:85%;">the problem with not being able to consistently write about subjects of great interest defeats the purpose of keeping your own little patch in cyberspace. and because of that fact, i declare this blog Closed. However, for the sake of keeping some valued memories i wont have it erased. Cheers! :) <span style="font-family:arial;">and happy 2009 to everyone.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-17142501398438919042009-03-21T23:28:00.000-07:002009-03-21T23:30:43.614-07:00Louise and Val knew nothing<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(Second of six parts, for lack of better things to do)<br />I know Val has always had trouble with Ms. P. She says dealing with her is like putting up with a self-righteous harpy in the workplace. It’s quite unimaginable writing an apology letter indicating all your mistakes in the past six months for simply not going to work on heels. And believe me I would’ve nailed my resignation letter on her forehead if I were on Val’s shoes. If not for Ms. P, though, and the long anticipated clash of your tempers, I assume there would not be a new account management position where Val would tackle her way through. And chances are you would not even move to that new agency where you’d meet my college dorm mate and friend, Louise. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br />The second time we saw each other was on your first day in the new agency—that was I think, December 2, Tuesday—a couple of days before Chiggy’s. First thing you noticed was my chain smoking, second, my hair. What I wanted to say then, is that I’m not in the habit of combing my hair every so often. Louise has just returned from an event that night; you were bored to death, which is normal for everyone on their first day in a new job; I was severely irritated by an office bitch who did nothing but watch youtube, while I struggle to finish the day’s deliverables. <br /><br />That second meeting was immediately followed by coffee the following morning, dinner the day after, and dinner again, and Chiggy’s without our dear Louise knowing. And only about a month after we became ‘official’ did we tell the poor girl about us, though obviously, she was a little smarter then we’ve thought. Val knew everything from the start, because of the few common friends we had then, she was most supportive—given of course that she’s an honest-to-god lesbian herself.<br /><br />By then, we were already friends in Facebook, Multiply, Plurk, Y!, what have you, and have been keeping a sort of steady communication with each other. You knew about my ex-girlfriend who left me for a guy and I knew about your ex-boyfriend in college who left you for reasons I can’t remember as well as your very discreet lesbian past back when you were in high school. Later, you would reveal a “thing” which you had with another person I knew from college and would forever complain “I’m living in such a small world.” Well, thank whatever gods we have that you do live in a small world; otherwise this account won’t be written at all.<br /><br />In our rather short and sweet period of flirtation, you taught me a lot of things I’d never learn from the book, from my shameless immoral friends, or my sexually repressed professors from college. My favorite lesson is the definition of the term below:<br /><br />Bugie (v.) the act of blatantly flirting with someone even without the intention of ever getting into a serious relationship with her—or perhaps getting into that but with this bitter intent of her dismissal after a couple of weeks. The word was coined and often used by the cream of high school bitches (where you once belonged) who prey on infatuated lesbians (excuse my French), in an exclusive school for girls somewhere in Quezon City.<br /><br />Bugie (n.) them fuckin’ bitches.<br /><br />Bugie-d (vt.) poor infatuated lesbian who fell for the trap. Ugh.<br /><br />Thank you very much for admitting that you originally planned to make a bugie out of me. Your ineffective plan aside, we sure ended happy in the next couple of years contrary to the very objects of your plan to keep me just for the thrill. Being the timid person that I am, I doubt if you were ever extremely thrilled—Friday nights and Saturday mornings aside.<br /><br />…to be continued…<br /><br /></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-30673871801882261832009-03-07T19:44:00.000-08:002009-03-07T19:48:24.765-08:00that night after chiggy's<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(First of six parts, for lack of better things to do)<br /><br />Weeks and weeks before that night in Chiggy’s, I took time to watch CNN and made some remark which was a little off my usual downbeat commentary about life. And it went: ‘Holy crap, I might be flying to Cali in a few years.’ Not that I think it’s a better place, with all the talks of Wallstreet crumbling and the rest of the US diving into recession. Subsequently, I flipped to E! and there was Ellen DeGeneres, long time girlfriend, Portia de Rossi, with the bells and doves and the paparazzi. I thought that was just, wow!<br /><br />So today, thanks to another three hours stand-by time and the rest of the terminal and slow mo, I’m thinking, ‘It’s gonna be Canada after all.’ I cringe at just the thought of letting go of a glamorous career in PR (at least at face value) to take a secretarial position in an indisputably unglamorous place. I was—you see—willing to do that for you. <br /><br />Please do remember your shameless admittance that, that night after Chiggy’s was the night you fell pretty damn hard—for, well, yours truly. Almost four o’clock in the morning with rest of the group still knock out drunk, I first ran my fingers across your back and smelled your hair and tasted your lips that were pursed, shut tight, quivering—and you were stiff as a corpse though your eyes were perfectly open. Sure was more freaky than sweet. I said I like you, and you kept asking, “Are you drunk?”<br /><br />No, I wasn’t drunk. For lack of space we shared one pillow, laid in our stomach, our faces real close. All I did was squeeze your hand and there we missed every chance of getting decent sleep. When Val finally rose up and almost fell off the bed finding her mobile, we knew, everybody’s alarm clock is going to be sounding soon. And being a good host that I should be, especially in your presence, I got up to make breakfast.<br /><br />You looked so hurried to leave my house, then, saying you got work to do. Being in advertising, I understand, is glitzy on one side, and a total pain in the ass on the other. So we all had breakfast—and you guys left a little before noon.<br /><br />That Saturday, six in the evening, your call woke me up. Instead of an invitation for a second date, you gave me snuffles and sobs, and it didn’t take long before you totally burst out crying. And your story went, “I lost a bunch of ad materials for client approval, and they’re supposed to be up the following week.” Baby, that’s what you’d get for working on a Saturday. Despite yesterday’s smell of cigarettes and beer, I again broke my vow of not leaving the house without a shower.<br /><br />Too late, telling me not to go. At about 6:20 I was already running for the train, dying to get to Glorietta. Your greeting when I finally got to that god forsaken corner of the walkway where you were sitting was, “You look so girly,” while looking at my metallic doll shoes. “Thank you,” I said, while in my mind I really meant, “What the hell, man! Would you mind asking your friend (who was sitting beside you) to give me some smoke, because you freaked me out again.”<br /><br />…to be continued…<br /> </span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-77401897573554755922009-03-04T09:16:00.000-08:002009-03-04T09:17:20.503-08:00i feel like a complete psycho<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">True friends would know that there’s a better chance of finding me in slaughter house than in a church. Yesterday, I broke the old assumption and decided to drop by the adoration chapel to, well, sit. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br />Funny, while in the supposed sacred room or place or whatver, I only thought of Slumdog Millionaire, the anti-gravity theories debunked in the rerun of Mythbusters, if vodka is really a good remedy for jellyfish stings, or where to get the money for my next DVD shopping spree in Quiapo. And SSSSS, who never leaves my mind except when I’m entertaining murderous thoughts.<br /><br />And for some strange reason the silence got into me and it totally freaked me out. So…I ran out of the chapel (literally….tumakbo), grabbed my slippers, and went on to do my business, that is, bumili ng sabon at mag paload. Amen. I feel like a complete psycho.<br /> </span><br /></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-38603795400930883732009-02-02T09:28:00.000-08:002009-02-02T09:31:15.609-08:00ruth<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">At dusk after the sheep had been herded, the brothers were found dead in the shades of a young cedar, and on their sides were several dry crusts and half-filled vessels of wine that exuded a metallic smell. It was murder. Elimelech, and his sons Mahlon and Kilion have all died in the land of Moab; a fitting termination, it seemed, of the curses—sterility and bloodless deaths— which followed his line since the Lord banished them from a plagued home.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Such was opportunity enough for Naomi and the two Moabite widows to return to Judah, for the Lord had again blessed the land, and there were crops enough to feed even the poorest foreigners. And so it also was the story of how Ruth chose to stand beside her mother-in-law, live by picking up barley snippets from the farm of an esteemed gentleman named Boaz, and eventually give birth and raise a little girl fated to spoil the house of Levi.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Boaz’s favor had always been with the Moabite woman; she ate his table, sheltered in his estate, and indulged in his love. Not long after her venture at the threshing floor, while the man winnowed barley, came what seemed like his preordained visits to her dwelling. He would knock at her door during the calmest nights and the two will make love until the moon would rest exactly above the Lord’s altar, then he would leave with his cloak and tunic, off to another cottage to get ready for the next working day.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Her legitimate redeemer, however, came exactly when the heat had subsided and the cold winds have started to shroud Judah. Azgad, son of Jacobo and Elimelech’s nephew, returned after a long journey from the eastern lands, carrying more wealth, more slaves, and various articles of gold. His riches far exceeded Boaz’s, for his father worked twice as hard after the famine in the sacred lands. Azgad took notice of the foreign woman upon a visit to his kin’s estate, and later knew that it was the widow of the late Mahlon. Younger and more prosperous, Azgad was determined to have Ruth for his wife, for she appeared wise and strong, and capable of grooming what would become his sons. He would redeem Elimelech’s lands and marry the stake because no decision could be wiser.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">In the gates of Judah, he refused to throw his sandal to secure the transfer of the rights of purchase—so began the obvious conflict which was settled in just one bitter night, when the thinnest strands of barley stood so still as though frozen. That night, several men set fire on Azgad’s field and the township noticed that in the morning after, the earth already smelled of fresh bread; in the afternoon, of wine; and in the evening, of burnt meat. He was sent a dying he-goat before nightfall, and with it, another invitation to the city gate. In his cottage, Boaz sat pleased, tapping a little ewer with his fingers. Such was a closure lucid enough for some of the spectators.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Several harvest seasons came after Ruth and Boaz had vowed a lifetime of devotion to each other, before the Lord of Judah, the elders, and members of their respective households. Still more seasons came, yet Ruth was found with no child, and in her moments alone she would harbor such growing discontent about her marriage—thinking that the same blood and the same curse which ran in the line of Elimelech also ran in Boaz’s—at such instance however, murder was unworkable. Not in the land and in the eyes of the Lord. He, the husband, shared the same disappointment, for without a boy he had no legitimate heir.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Now in one of the feasts thrown by Boaz for the household, Ruth once again took notice of Azgad—how he seemed to have grown younger, more vibrant in years. One moment and their eyes met, bringing to his recall how his fields were burned; and their hearts being subject to revenge and discontent, their minds being eager for certain disengagements, they fell into deceit. Not long after, she was found with child, to the joy of Boaz’s household, but to the rage of the man himself, for being aware of his own incapacities, he ventured in secret to find out who the father could be, but to no avail.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">The fields again smelled of bread and wine the day Aida and Obed were born. The man Boaz, set out quietly in his field with fire from the Lord’s altar and wept bitterly as he spread the fire. And behold the morning after, such fragrance which could only come from a crisp burnt offering.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">(dhidalgo 2009)</span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-1751668481394352552009-01-26T10:11:00.000-08:002009-01-26T10:22:22.305-08:00being cheated<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXG4VsMSCXUBemqRfuEAzcLHXU0vKNBGnHNclq9ZqOfaHGNtR01FtBCOvAtwbTkoEFe-3BYh-7_M5n8LxD7k91roJqFdGpk7plsr8AXNR9zq6tvKi8SPj0eQNdnpyChk6HLhXjiePJROj/s1600-h/A+Brief+History+of+Time.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295668714714847714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXG4VsMSCXUBemqRfuEAzcLHXU0vKNBGnHNclq9ZqOfaHGNtR01FtBCOvAtwbTkoEFe-3BYh-7_M5n8LxD7k91roJqFdGpk7plsr8AXNR9zq6tvKi8SPj0eQNdnpyChk6HLhXjiePJROj/s320/A+Brief+History+of+Time.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">It's when you learn that the sun's gravity can bend light and make a star in the east appear forty five degrees away from its real location. Or, when light from another star finally lands into your good ol' pair of lenses, though the giant fucking ball had exploded even before the first strings of protein (that would eventually become you and the neighbors you so hated) were glued by chance or by some earthly gods.<br /></span><div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So it often happens--that upon your admiration of the sky in a cloudless night, you take pleasure in being cheated by things that are not actually there or have been--for the longest time--dead. </span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><div><br />* * * *<br />Now on the third day of reading <em><strong>A Brief History of Time</strong></em> by <em><strong>Stephen Hawking</strong></em> and the farthest I've gone is the fourth chapter. I'm virtually drunk with all the physics but I swear upon my future grave, I'll finish this book. Hell, it's no easy read, but worth the headache.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></span></div></div></div>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-70252263452412516452009-01-24T21:25:00.000-08:002009-01-24T21:34:48.522-08:00delayed reaction<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">"What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply."<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Enough said; guess we all gotta move on. Cheers for godfather Barack.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">god forgive me for making no argument at all.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">***</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">And this, I look forward to.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">"To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it."</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">amen. amen. because indifference is a crime.<br /></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-22919633572854630282008-12-28T06:23:00.000-08:002008-12-28T07:15:46.857-08:00Nawa'y hindi suwagin ng Ox<span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">to learn as much from the people I'm yet to meet</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">to ditch a longstanding comfort I call INDIFFERENCE</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">to </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">love more, and more, and more, if chance would allow</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">hello, this is my agenda for 2009!<br />where do i toss my wish for a much better year? gosh, how do i reboot?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-45890605339738337252008-12-14T08:57:00.000-08:002008-12-14T08:59:53.442-08:00TAKIP-SILIM: Twilight pirated version<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">Kasi pare ganito daw yun. May isa daw babae na hot daw pare. Pero maputla siya kasi hindi siya inalagaan ng nanay niya pare. Tapos pare emo daw siya kasi nga daw hindi siya mahal ng mundo at para siyang patay na bata na galit sa mundo. Tapos pare, lumipat daw siya ng tirahan kasi daw masyado daw siyang emo para sa luma niyang tirahan. Sabi niya sa nanay niya "Tangina mo 'nay gusto ko lumipat kay 'tay." Tangina pare, hindi nagalit nanay niya. Sabi lang ng nanay niya "Tangina mo pare, wag ka magmura."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"><br />So lumipat siya sa tatay niya 'di ba? Pagkarating niya dun sabi niya, "Tangina erpat bakit maulan dito?" Sabi ng erpat niya, "Gago 'bur' months na! Malamig na tangena." So nagtaka 'yung babaeng simula ngayon ay tatawagin na lang nating "babaeng maputla at emo."<br /><br />So pumasok siya sa school 'di ba? Binigyan siya ng truck ng tatay niya pare. Sabi ng tatay niya "Tangina mo sa 'yo na tong truck ko." Sabi niya, "Salamat, tay."<br /><br />Pagkarating niyang school tsong, may nakita siyang lalaking mukhang bangkay pero pogi. Sakto. Pogi pero mukhang bangkay. Sabi ni babaeng maputla at emo "Hot pare."<br /><br />Nung Chem lab na ni babaeng maputla at emo, natagpuan niyang lab partner niya 'yung poging bangkay. So nung tinignan siya nung poging bangkay, ang asim ng mukha nito. Mukhang nandiri ata kay babaeng maputla at emo.<br /><br />Sabi ni poging bangkay, "Tangina mo." Sabi ni babaeng maputla at emo, "Tangina KA." Sabi ni poging bangkay, "Tangina NIYA oh." *tumuro sa teacher nila* Sabi ni babaeng maputla at emo "Oo nga noh. TANGINA MO." Sabi ni poging bangkay, "Tangina mo, gago bampira ako." Tapos naghubad siya ng damit at kumintab ang katawan niya kasi nilagyan niya ng glitters ang abs niya kasi tigas siya at ganun na ang mga tigas ngayon na nagpupuntang Emba.<br /><br />So pare na in-love si babaeng maputla at emo kay poging bangkay. Si poging bangkay naman sige lang kasi sex din daw yun. So ayun. Ang shweet shweet nila.<br /><br />"Eow poh... ahihihihi"<br /><br />"Bebe mwahugz,..... ^^,"<br /><br />So tapos nun nagpunta sila sa damuhan kasi.... alam mo na. Tapos sabi ni poging bangkay "Ikaw na buhay ko ngayon." Sabi ni babaeng maputla at emo "Tangina mo gago patay ka na." Sabi ni poging bangkay, "TANGINA KA."<br /><br />Tapos nag-sex sila.<br /><br />So basically pare, 'yun lang 'yung mga importanteng nangyari sa buong storya. Intense noh? Kaya pala nahu-hook lahat ng tao.<br /><br />*Repost from Carson's multiply*<br /><br />FANS, PLEASE DONT HATE ME :D</span><br /></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-89295720707905372122008-12-07T02:25:00.000-08:002008-12-07T02:46:24.585-08:00dearest,<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">You have to know that I have a lot of insecurities springing from the fact that I’m so bad at running my own life: I go to work but I don’t deliver, I don’t know where to go (so I guess I won’t be going anywhere), I don’t know what I want (so I guess I won’t be getting anything). I’d be dragging you to the mire if I say ‘let’s be together’ and that’s bad news for both of us—you’re smart so I know you’d agree.<br /><br />You’re well aware, too, that I have a hell lot of baggage (the same ones you used to carry) that’s been weighing me down since <em>time-I-refuse-to-remember</em>. Not healthy. So there, this space is surely not enough to contain all the disadvantages of being with someone who lives in a shit hole. FYI, some close friends think I got no sufficient EQ to keep a romantic relationship—coming from people who've been with me for long, I'm certain there's some truth in that.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">When I said I like you, I meant it like I’m like willing to shake the goddamn universe—if only I’m capable—though it probably seemed like a joke so badly delivered. Well, I like you. You’re like a shot of morphine. And I’m not kidding. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(Take that! Hiyah, hiyah, wapak!)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Given these, I'd have to ask: Are you willing to go through all the trouble? </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><em>P.S. And now I can't help but wish all Saturdays're the same.</em></span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></p></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-26527112723923118932008-12-01T08:47:00.000-08:002008-12-01T08:50:35.336-08:00Linus, i'm not putting the gun down. (this is my birthday post)<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(according to vera, i now have 10 years left to decide whether or not to live beyond forty. you, spectator, where did you get this idea that i'm wiling to sell my soul for a measly job title and to exhaust myself bearing with all the corporate pretense? I could just chuck my BA degree and live the way i want. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br />lay your expectations low, it's my burden if i don't succeed - it's my life in trial and error.<br /><br />at 20, i am happy for my lack of achievements. so please, be happy for me. just be happy for me.)<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">"Waiting so long for your wrists to get thick </span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Waiting so long for the next great party </span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">So many questions, so little to say </span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">You don't need these weights </span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Boy, what you gonna do with your life? </span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Drunk again in the rhododendrons"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Rhododendron - Bloc Party</strong></span></span><br /></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-7223005160438968452008-11-28T09:56:00.000-08:002008-11-28T10:30:35.770-08:00anger management<p align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273769281282969618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 262px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 171px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_L0YItOBkKG3CRLN8byDNr4gv4khUs-ydB2HHRLQezpvln8EYgGguvGVnxO-ReKQNGPP91mHQMHo2BASsZjyqXzT9SPRamWKrL3S3xKAb83az2pVh4zqADXBF-RlK3FJ14HmQ_LIx0L/s320/gamibuurrs.jpg" border="0" />think: the four people you'll definitely meet in hell. </em>grab 'em poor gummy bears. bite the head off, then swallow. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">believe me guys, this is therapeutic. hahaha!</span></span></p>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-61847206177832308992008-11-25T04:48:00.000-08:002008-11-25T05:00:47.187-08:00strange<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">naisip kita pagka-gising ko.<br /></span></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-82099803138175737532008-11-24T07:11:00.001-08:002008-11-24T07:29:08.291-08:00ingrate<div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyaDys0lbapOEsnqfpxUbKmhQaaIu4Y03jlG6VGyICmuLHwTJeCsdSYNPEo5D65XYeUOdHAN6nb9C4MQkQ5PWcHZemgeg1ZtU6rQ0rscBM9rTEh-3sbJKQJo083IQ-8oGaWjdmyy_g6l5/s1600-h/puti_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyaDys0lbapOEsnqfpxUbKmhQaaIu4Y03jlG6VGyICmuLHwTJeCsdSYNPEo5D65XYeUOdHAN6nb9C4MQkQ5PWcHZemgeg1ZtU6rQ0rscBM9rTEh-3sbJKQJo083IQ-8oGaWjdmyy_g6l5/s320/puti_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272245160655652594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">she eats at least 3 kilos of fish a week, sleeps on top of the fridge 18 out of 24 hours, and totally ignores me except when she's hungry or itching for a bath. this is one wicked pet. :D</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">ingrata. hahaha.</span></span><br /></div>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-52290379010235655822008-11-08T00:04:00.000-08:002008-11-08T00:06:42.170-08:00knocked down at central<div id="item_body" class="bodytext" author="shitandsunshine" author_possessive="shitandsunshine's"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"pare, you there? i'm so drunk i'm thinking of asking you out"</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">(bago ang suka sa menu then sa bucket)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">geez guys, you know how things normally go when alcohol reaches my head--prelude to a total knock down--either i permanently scare some people away or get harassed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">or send drunk messages (which i know is cheap, but i sure can't help it). my apologies to the recipients. no regrets for me, though. :D</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">high times are good times. salamat sa dalawang abnormal na drinking buddies. 'til next time.</span></span><br /></div><div style="clear: both;"><!-- --></div>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314397396653190681.post-45767796739725188442008-11-06T05:23:00.000-08:002008-11-06T05:39:31.445-08:00tonight's prayer<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">dear gods/demons/freud/jung,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">grant me this night 8 hours of continuous sleep; no dreams about work, about her, or about my empty wallet.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">do consider the people of the same predicament, give us the rest we deserve. thanks if you do, fuck you if you don't.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">this i pray in whosoever's name i have to swear by, amen.</span></span>...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12270227960956177771noreply@blogger.com5