Monday, July 28, 2008

Joke Joker Jokest

I finally convinced myself to watch The Dark Knight yesterday. Not that I do not like to see it, but I’m just a drag when it comes to hyped-up movies that I have not seen yet. Somehow, it makes me shun the idea of catching it with commoners, like groups of idiots who are either going to spoil the ending, or do crazy shit inside the cinema, (like shouting and INAPPROPRIATELY LAUGHING REALLY LOUD, making side comments as the scenes roll). They can do this because they are many. I know it for a fact because I am those people when I’m with my own crew.

Well that, and the kids. I just don’t like watching superhero movies with kids around. It just annoys me when they are not aware that they are disturbing other people, and I cannot do anything about it because they’re stupid kids. It’s not fair. I want to watch movies like this every now and then because I want to feel like a child sometimes, but in turn become much more of a coarse adult that I am, thanks to these tykes. I’d spank them, if I am as old as them. Their parents should not fuck anymore.

I was anticipating that thirty minutes during the whole film, I would feel like blowing up the whole theatre using an improvised bomb made out of toothpaste and gum. Thankfully as I had calculated, the place was not jam-packed so I was able to find a good spot right in the middle portion of the theatre. It felt like I was all alone with this giant TV screen in my room. Precious…very precious. On with the review:

The Dark Knight as we all know is the sequel of Batman Begins shown last 2005, in which I only slept all throughout. But TDK is not really dependent on its first Batman installment and so the story is easy to understand, except for Batman’s speech impediment. Well, I can remember that his enemy in the first movie was Scarecrow who was busted right in the beginning of TDK. Buh-bye Scarycrow. Moving forward…

The real meat of the story revolves around Batman years after he became the Caped Crusader (yes, “Cape” with a “d”) evidenced by his many battle scars and his new enemy, the Joker. Gotham city is now infested with criminals and criminalitities, from low life thugs to huge, untouchable mobs and gangs organized into one group with, well, what do you know!? One accountant!

It is hard-earned money – these mobs were able to amass, and I still couldn’t understand why the hell they need to have only one accountant. They should have at least two, so that when one gets burned alive, they still have a spare. Also, if it wasn’t needed in the story that Lau is an Asian, this is one clear sign of subtle stereotyping. Get the point?

Lau =Accountant= Asian =Math freak.

But this is just one of the things that you just ignore in the story, like how the Joker schemes the planting of the bombs. How he just turns up in a supposedly secured place where authorities are supposed to be watching out for him, and how he rounds up his own gang whom he simply disposes off after they’ve served their purpose to him. We just leave it to the fact that he’s the villain and should be magnificent portraying it as he executes the final blow, the fantastic explosions and sometimes the candid manifestation of his twisted persona ("Do you wanna know how I got these scars?"). And he executed it very well, indeed. It justified my officemate’s comment on Heath Ledger’s performance after watching the movie, and I’d say the same, It’s no wonder why Heath died.

On the other hand…well, Batman is Batman. We could not do anything about it further. I have learned from the same officemate that Ledger visited mental institutions for two years just to get an idea on how to become as demented as the Joker, and I have surmised that Christian Bale’s reference in this movie is none other than our very own Fernando Poe Jr. The King no less. Most probably the suit Morgan Freeman’s character has developed for Mr. Wayne locks his jaw in place so it’s as if he’s grunting every line he says. If you know Fernando Poe’s famous lines in his movie, Kapag Puno na ang Salop, you’ll get what I’m talking about.

TDK so far is the most serious Batman flick that’s been made. It has successfully created a sense of foreboding by combining the elements of dim lighting with few pale colors, almost infrasound hair-raising background sound in almost all the scenes and a well-thought, almost philosophical script well executed by the main actors. The Joker isn’t a clown. He’s the kind of villain who would sneak up on you in real life and cut both corners of your lips. Batman is horny and in a quarter-life crisis making him to decide to cut ties with his alter-ego– Gotham is so fucked up.

His subtle innuendos as Bruce for example are like ego punches to the character of Harvey Dent whom is engaged to Bruce’s former love interest, adding flavor and conflict thereby making it more dynamic to watch. Girl blows up -Maggie Gyllenhaal’s best performance- Joker escapes, and Dent escapes not with a cute face. The characters don’t fuck around. Gunshots are meant to kill, Dent –supposedly a man of virtue and integrity and rationality– suddenly flips a coin, and bombs are detonated, not defused in time.

The film cited a lot issues regarding the human psyche of right and wrong in a lot of levels but has been successful in all of them. Younger viewers in their tender formative years will see Batman as the hero and the Joker as the bad guy just because he blew up a hospital, or hanged a man, or wore a frightening make-up and because their idiotic parents told them so. Morons would just watch and drool and grope the breasts of their girlfriends during night scenes while they’re being masturbated. Critical audience, like *ahem* me, will see that fate has made a humor on Joker’s former life, and this dark past fuels his rage against anything decent and happy. This anger egged him on to plot against humanity itself not by blatantly undertaking mass obliteration without first proving his point that there is no good or evil in this world, but just man’s instinct for survival in whatever form, as what he had hoped to achieve in the ferry experiment. But as much as it sucks that the villain must lose at the end he didn’t succeed. However, the premise was later on concretized as the movie ends with the good and evil becoming irrelevant to what should be known as the truth (“He is the hero Gotham deserves, but he’s not the one we need right now”).

By the way, my former nickname in our neighborhood was Batman. It began when I senselessly jumped off the second floor window (fifteen feet high) of my Aunt’s house when I was six or seven. A neighbor saw me and my cousins noticed I wasn’t looking out the window anymore. I fell and hit my head hard on the ground and they rushed to pick me up. I was conscious all throughout. Then as my father became relieved that his youngest dick didn’t suffer any injuries (no blood, no cuts or anything swollen), he resumed drinking. Stupid kid, he said. I made myself a glass of hot milk and noticed two small punctured holes on my right arm. Then I started climbing on walls.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Fucked Up Entry

“I love you still, that’s the torment of it…The measure of my hatred is that love…Do you NOW know how much I hate you?!” – Claudia, Interview with the Vampire
I already have three entries as of today. Four, if this one is counted. I’ve read and reread them. And I noticed I have a bad habit in writing. I have a bad habit of writing long sentences. I asked a friend about it. He said it’s true, they are quite long.

So I’m trying my best. Trying my best to come up with something. Something that can be my next entry. The first one with shorter sentences. Thinking about it, I just write what I think. And think I do. I have lots of stuff on my mind. Things that I need to write about. They drive me crazy. Crazy because I don’t know which to say first. So I end up blurting them up. Say them in a single sentence.

So I guess I’d stop now. I’ll stop for a while and organize my thoughts. That way, I hope something sensible will emerge. But I’ll let you look into my mind. I’ll let you in, just for you to know me better. Ready? Here it is:


Fucked up, noh? And it’s just a chunk. A piece of my mind. And there are lots from where it came from. Things that are supposed to be kept inside. But who knows? Maybe if you stick for just a little longer, I’ll tell you what they are. Come closer…

Thursday, July 24, 2008

To Withdraw or not To Withdraw...that's the Predicament

Fucking is good. Whenever I get lucky doing it, I utter a little thanks to the BIG MAN up there because I will once again have a good score. That, or I am just too drunk to care about the appearance of my fuck friend.

But you just don’t jump into it right away, right? No matter how drunk you are, you still at least have the romantic shit to caress the girl’s boobs and ass, kiss her on the lips while parting strands of hair that block her face. You smell her hair and compliment her sweet smelling shampoo. Then your hands will do a little trip down there, you’ll get more aroused as you slide your hand all over her sexy contour, her breasts like the sides of Mayon, thank God it’s young and beautiful and not like the Grand Canyon…yet. Probably after that your finger or two or three or your two clapping hands will be inside her warm cunt, and she’ll twitch her eyes a little, as if she is a bit hurt. But who is she kidding when she begs you to make it faster, right? I mean the thrusting, not the clapping.

Yes, yes…very romantic. You know how the body of a woman works and reacts. Okay! Your turn now, so put your dick in front of her mouth and ask her to suck ‘it’.

I remember that’s how a friend described one of his sexperiences. Now he’s married to/stuck on/stuck in that same girl because of that night when he asked her girlfriend if, “you like it faster huh?!”. He also has a big dick like *mine (*orig. me, but that’s a different entry altogether). But I got a bigger brain. From my travels around the world, people from the far west use this thing called uhm…contraceptives.

(Oohhh what??!! Controceptives? C-Contraceptives? Contra-what? I’m having pasta for dinner.)

Ooohhh…it’s one of the hot issues right now, correct? The Holy Roman Catholic Church is against the use of the artificial birth control because it is a direct clash to the teachings of the church. The bible says go forth and multiply. The body says go forth and fuck and pray hard it’s negative after three months. The economy says we’re so fucking many in this planet, a cleansing should be served, first with the blood of the whole China, then India (why the need for many gods? god of the week contest?).

I just saw in the news that a representative of the lower house flipped on his standing on the passing of the bill on birth control methods and is now against it. On a side note, this gentleman from a provincial state got the highest grade in Christian Living subject during his high school days and is now happily married living with his mistress.

The church seems to be busy lobbying for the ditching of the bill, but is not fool enough to give up its ungodly wealth. Instead, they offer indulgences and absolutions to the politicians, like forgiving them for having three families, acquiring undue wealth and receiving communion twice than everybody else every mass. One word: Chavit. I also heard the CBCP is in the drawing boards for releasing kapal bulls (pronounced: key-puhl in Filipino). Ladies and gentlemen, we’re in the local version of the Renaissance period.

I’ll fuck the church this time. Well, not the institution, but the people hiding beneath its cloak of power. Fuck them boy suckers. For all I care, they’re just sour-graping because they won’t know the taste of a vagina in their lifetime. Or probably they’re sneaking out of their parishes at night, who knows? Or probably they won’t have to leave their dormitories because the altar boy is kinda hot. Yeahh…like what Pat said, genuflecting is not always for praying.

The population is growing exponentially. The government is pressed to do something about it and I believe putting a cap on every citizen’s dick is a good idea. The church should shut it this time and begin donating its properties to the poor and less fortunate instead. That, and discipline their priests, teach them that altar boys are not the body and blood of Christ.

The government deals with matters concerning the people’s welfare and in turn, that of the country’s as a whole. The church protects its people from eternal damnation. They govern over the same people but on two different planes of their lives. Ultimately, it’s supposed to be up to every single one of us which to adhere. You like fucking safely? Use a condom. Your soul will be at risk for the eternal fires of hell though, provided you’re a Christian. You’re a good Christian? Put on a WWJD bracelet and make tiny cuts on your thighs every night. Fuck once every year to produce an offspring.

Fucking is a choice. From whether you like it with a boy or a girl, down to deciding if it’s gonna be skin to skin or with a rubber. All the government tries to enact are options and suggestions. So the church must put back its dick in its robe because it’s forcing its way to the mouth of the government and of the people. They are supposed to teach, not to impose. To implore, not to explore the body of a boy seminarian.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Auto Fellatio

I got a major hangover this morning. I woke up wearing yesterday’s shirt and my underwear only. (un)Lucky for me, I was in our house but was in my brother’s room and so I assumed he transferred to my room because who would want to sleep next to your drunken brother in his briefs?

The moment I opened my eyes, was the moment that I thought a horse kicked me in the head. It was as if all life was flushed out of my system and I (un)feel like Yuri from the Japanese movie Dead Girl Walking. I stood up slowly and went to the CR to take a piss. I noticed I didn’t get a morning hard-on which validated my idea that it was indeed going to be a fucked up morning-after. Here we go again, I said to myself.

I was drunk last night, that’s for sure. But there were gaps in my memory on what had transpired. These are the times that my superego is replaced by my ego and id, so I hoped I didn’t screw a baboon. Apparently, people have been telling me that I turn into a different persona every time I get drunk. I get a little happy and touchy, but mostly happy. Fucking happy that I turn into a local ghetto in the way I speak, mainly telling people around me to fuck each other just for fun. So I tried remembering, for example, how I was able to get home, and what time we left the bar. Did I finish my drink? Have I made indecent proposals to indecent people yet again? I also checked my body for any piercing on the nipple or belly button or if a carrot had been stuffed in my anus. I said a little prayer of thanks as I found no carrot on any hole that I have. No betacarrotine for me!

Rewind fifteen hours earlier:

After “masturbating” my clients and officemates, I got off from work but didn’t really feel like going home yet. Then I remembered getting an invitation from my friend MC to come to his former boss’s farewell party at a nearby bar in Makati, but didn’t really want to ask him again if the offer’s still up because I wasn’t really close to his boss in the first place. The sound of free flowing beer (FFB!!!) was very tempting though [After a few bottles, his boss and I were as tight as my ass].

What better thing to do on a Friday early evening but to have my Timezone Greenbelt card reloaded and sing my heart out in their videoke? So I busted my nut surviving the songs of Survivor and gave injustice to the songs of the blind-man-walking-who-fell-face-flat-on-an-Obama-campaign-trail Stevie Wonder. After giving my vocal chords its daily exercise –meaning some bastard sneaked in while I had my card reloaded– I decided to take the ride home. As I was walking to the terminal, I heard a band performing in the dining center of The Enterprise so I thought checking them out. Next thing I know, I was in front with the band and about to sing With You by Chris Brown –who is actually black– when MC called my cellphone asking where I was. Long story short, I rendezvous with him in front of a lamely named bar and greeted Hello Kitty, his former boss.

The bar was almost full with cavorting yuppies although it’s unnoticeable on the outside. I was re-introduced to the officemates of my friend which I didn’t find hard for the fact that I once worked in the same company, although I didn’t have to masturbate my bosses there; bunch of niceness, those people.

If there’s one thing I learned thru the years I’ve been drinking, it’s that drinking alcohol is like fucking yourself real slowly. I found a spot between PeePee and J as MC went out to meet his blog friends to have a quick dinner outside. There I was, just keeping to myself as I drank my first bottle. Then, as we fuck ourselves with more bottles consumed, all the inhibitions were shed and found ourselves laughing at each one’s anecdotes.

My last recollection was that I showed MC a text message from this girl I’ve been going out twice for two months now (haha! ang hina ko) , and I asked what did the “I luv yah” part meant. All things after that were done by my subconscious –the real, uncensored me.

I just finished chatting with MC now who filled me in with the gaps in my memory. He said that for the most part, they were delighted of me and Hello Kitty even said that I should come with them the next time they go out. By the way, Hello Kitty is a lesbian. MC said I was hitting on her but didn’t catch what I said to her. What he heard was Kitty’s reply, “Boy din ako eh,”. Two years ago, during my last Christmas party with their company, I was also drunk and tried hitting on Kitty as well. I must really love lesbos. =)

He said I also made comments regarding him being a match with one of his two blogfriends whom he brought along to the party. Although I feel like I’m in heaven observing awkward uncomfortable situations experienced by other people, I didn’t know that his two blogfriends are actually lovers, which made any tension more…uhm…intense. So I’m pretty sure MC would be reading this, and I’m really sorry friend. Like what I’ve said, I’m gonna be extra nice next time we meet up. =)

I’ve been in many golf (gulp) sessions before. Sometimes I really get drunk and sometimes my alter-ego takes over. Like what I’ve said earlier, I think it is very much like fucking with one’s self real slowly. A friend made a statement before, referring to drinking alcohol as looking down the well of your soul – where deepest thoughts and well-kept secrets are taken out, pail by pail, as you take in more alcohol, bottle by bottle; he was drunk when he said that, by the way. Being drunk truly tests your core personality, what your beliefs are and how you react to things differently than when you are in the comfort zone of soberness. Oddly enough, I was able to straighten out some personal issues I had only when I experienced some of the highest levels of intoxication. Drinking can really be a theraphy, you see, so don’t follow Edu Manzano’s advice. He’s a sham, that drunken bastard.

There are some things you did while you’re drunk that you’ll only find out the day after from your friends. And just like having a one night stand, you will either hate yourself or light up a cigarette as you pat your back for a score well done the morning after. You will either swear not to have sex with yourself anymore, not again, until you die, or prep yourself for the next big night.
Eventually you will have another bottle of a nice cold beer and some sisig for pulutan with your friends in some cozy bar, listening to nice songs and talking about some fucked up friends that you had in common, whose elementary classmate shit on his trousers before, or planning your next get away for the third quarter of the year dahil marami kayo at quorum, and then you will realize that all your beer bottles are empty so you order for more beers…and ice…and some sizzling pulutan…vinegar as condiment…chicharon…beer…pulutan…sisig…beer…sex…

What am I doing? It's a Saturday night.

I should be fucking myself now.

Monday, July 14, 2008


My high school friends say that I have a big dick. They say this to me and make fun of me lots of times even if only one of them has really seen it…when it was swollen due to circumcision. But it’s the kind of teasing that a guy like me doesn’t really get offended to, if not, actually flattered. I can be a pornstar if I like to (but seriously, my dream is to direct a porn). But it just bothers me sometimes that I tend to jump in to the joke and make fun of my penis as well, as I use their preconceived notion that I really am equipped. You see, I don’t have a big dick, but I’m not saying the contrary. In the first place, I thought, who judges whether your family jewel is actually huge or not? Is there an organization that decrees which range in the continuum of the penis universe is considered huge? What is its name? Will it be like the Virility and Girth Inspection National Association (VAGINA)? And provided that it really exists, how will the VAGINA lay its matrices so that all the phallic factors fit in it snugly? A lot has to be measured like length, girth, and spherical area of the glans penis, not to mention the race and nationality of the person. Will the VAGINA be up for the challenge of our penises?

In my age now, there are some people other than my mother, brothers and my nanny, who have already seen mini-me. Upon first sight, I’m pretty sure that nobody made the sign of the cross, shouted “Santa Maria, it’s the lochness monster!” and dashed for the door as if it is coming to get them from between their legs (insert Maui Taylor chase scene with the giant dick in the movie Sex Drive, here). Quite fortunately, I also haven’t heard anyone say, “Awww…*sigh* there you are, so cute!” as I pulled my zipper down to the tune of You Sexy Thing (I believe in miracles! Where you from?! You sexy thing!). But if given only these two scenarios, I’d pick the prior.

I’d rather have a bazooka than a garden hose because, well…larger is better. But I am quite okay with what God has given me. How can’t I? It can do the job it is tasked to do… PISSING, stupid. And yeah, as a stuffing for the turkey for Thanksgiving, and a pie driller.

This society equates penis size as the actual measure of one’s masculinity and virility. In that single piece of expandable muscle tissue we source and derive all our confidence, bravado and chutzpah. Hell, even Rasputin’s disputed dong is believed to be cure for men’s impotence.

I don’t know if that is a natural instinct emanating from our bushy area, but this same subconscious psyche that we have gives men undue and imagined dominion over all things around him. Isn’t it everyday that we keep on hearing reports of abused children and women by men? Especially here in the Philippines, where I grew up in a family wherein the father –the one with the biggest dick in the house– gets to decide when and where to hit his kids…and wife.

Luckily for me, I don’t have that illusion. I have my sex organ and so does everyone else. This gives me only an equal opportunity like the rest of us to get laid sometimes, or get off by ourselves. But the most important thing is that I’m not dumb enough to use my head down there to brag my greater strength or anything of that sort. For me, it is just plainly stupid and inanely arrogant. Because all of us can be pornstars, but not everyone is that huge.