Step Into My Parlor…

You’re free to fuck around and leave shit here and there. But start attacking me or other commenters and I will cut you…

…r comment out of my blog.

So seriously, play nice.

Oh, and: cats, lolcats, loldogs, fashion, politics, hot guys, hot girls, and other fun shnitz I find on the internet.

You’re welcome.

Oh, and in case you haven’t had enough of me, I’m here, here and here:

Hurt

You all proudly call yourselves members of the Seventh-day Adventist Church in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. And I congratulate you on that distinction. As members of the church, you saw it fit to break a mother’s heart. I’m sure you had “good intentions”, hoping to show my mom my “sins”. But I question your “intentions” and I question my “sins”.

My life has been fraught with hardships, mistakes, sorrow, and grief. It is also filled with battles won, mountains climbed, and lessons learned.

More importantly, I am as close as I can get to self-actualization on this part of my journey, therefore my life is an open book. I am just as happy sharing my life in the real world as I am online, where I am blessed to have the ability to document this journey, good and bad, in this wonderful thing called Facebook. I see you’ve spent countless hours digging through hundreds of my pictures, and chose to highlight to my very conservative mother some of my “worst indiscretions”.

As my mother, she has been privy to every major mistake, and I have personally shattered her heart a million times over. I would like to think I have redeemed myself a million times over, as well. I have always had the strength and tenacity to pick myself up, dust myself off, and start anew. I am proud of the mistakes I have made, and I am INTENSELY proud of who I am today because of those mistakes.

You played no part in raising me to be the person I am today. The only value you have added is this experience, now, having to deal with your well-intentioned but poorly-executed “intervention”.

You exemplify the cliché of rumor-mongering, self-righteous churchgoers. You choose to turn a blind eye to your ridiculous situation: that for a small group of “faithful believers” being “persecuted” in a repressive regime, you’ve managed to fracture your community into two disparate groups with differing beliefs! And not just that, you’ve actually started to sow hate and discord by ruthlessly speaking about each other behind each other’s backs! You’ve destroyed credibility and relationships from within (it helps that I’m an expert in information gathering, no?).

I am a productive Filipino, earning a living that puts me in the top 10% of the income bracket for this country. Through talent, hard work, sleepless nights, and sheer willpower, I have built a home filled with items that allow me to live a life of relative comfort. I am part of the 2% of the world’s population that can claim ZERO debt. But that’s not a measure of success.

I share my life with a man who I know loves me unconditionally, and who I would gladly take a bullet for. We have a home filled with love where we freely discuss Islam, Buddhism, Jainism, The Book of Mormon, the Bible, and The Talmud. We are surrounded by books on every major philosophy, movies from every major genre, and eat Adobo on Monday, Tandoori on Friday, and Baklava for dessert. We are both constantly curious about this amazing world and her people, and do not discriminate on the basis of age, race, sex, sexual orientation, or religion. We are blessed to be surrounded by friends who return the favor, and love us for who we are. But that’s still not the true measure of success.

I define my success by my ability to pronounce an oath: I swear by my life, and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for the sake of mine.

I am Burn Tan-Hoyumpa.

My life is none of your business.

I want to have nothing to do with yours.

You have hurt my mother and father, by meddling in something you have no right to stick your noses in.

You owe them an apology. I don’t need or want one from you, because your words mean less than nothing, if that’s possible.

I hope you can find the wherewithal to focus on enriching your own lives, instead of finding fault in others. I hope you find the same peace and contentment I feel when I sleep at night.

I wish you all the best in your future endeavors, and for our paths to never cross again.

On Theism

Written in response to this urban legend…

I find it hard to reconcile a god that would provide water for Hagar’s dying child and yet allow millions of children to be tortured in Treblinka and Auschwitz Birkenau.

But then again, it’s not the concept of god I find abhorent. Some people need to believe in a higher power. What I find absolutely revolting is the concept of organized religion. Every major conflict in the history of mankind can trace its roots to a group of people believing that their god is better than someone else’s.

As an agnostic, I think dismissing the problems of the world on the absence of “god” in society is juvenile. Blaming someone (or in this case, the absence of someone) for something is far too simplistic, built on an incredibly warped system of logic. “The dog died because I asked daddy to leave”. And people don’t question the fact that the dog died because it had cancer,not because the child asked daddy to leave.

(Have I confused you yet?)

Do I have a right to complain? Yes, absolutely. I cannot prove nor disprove the existence of god. I’m an agnostic.

I make an honest living, I pay my taxes, I do good unto others. I don’t judge on the basis of sex, sexual orientation, race, religion, or belief. I think everyone is created equal*. I have no prejudices.

What right does the Catholic Church, or the Republic of the Philippines, or the General Conference… What right do they have to say that as a homosexual, I don’t exist?

I choose not to have a theistic figure in my life because I don’t accept any theory on “faith”. Accepting a concept on faith is conceding to the fact that it cannot be taken on its own merits. I believe in reason and logic and my own natural inquisitiveness.

I have a right to complain.

I’m going to step down from my soapbox now.

(*except for the poor and the ugly. Just kidding**. LOL)

(**maybe)

Have You No Sense of Fucking Decency?

A convicted felon is running for the presidency of the country I love, my home.

Have you no sense of decency, Joseph Ejercito “Erap” Estrada? Have you no. fucking. shame?

You are the second most corrupt president of the Republic of the Philippines, bested only by a tyrant who brought us from a position of power equal to the United States in our region — to the mire we are stuck in today.

You made it to the top ten list of MOST CORRUPT LEADERS OF THE WORLD, embezzling nearly 80 million US DOLLARS from the coffers of my country and robbing from her people.

As if that wasn’t enough, you actually had the audacity to sign for the accounts holding that money with a fake name so sinfully unimaginative and so stupidly looking like your own original signature (and here I am tempted to say “you dumb fuck” but my mother raised me to be a lady).

How Much Do I Hate You?

Let me count the ways:

1. When asked “why are you running for the presidency”, I could maybe have kept my bile down had you spouted off some bullshit like “to serve the people”. But NO.
   • You wanted to defend the honor of your mother who died thinking you were a criminal. Which you ARE.
   • You wanted to “raise your children” to know that their father fought for the “truth”. Your children are grown, corrupt, politicians. So yeah, good job on that, you dumb fuck.
2. You’re a fucking idiot for announcing your candidacy before actually filing it with the Supreme Court
3. Half the people you said would be on your senatorial cabinet won’t even acknowledge you.
4. You were OUSTED not even before you hit HALF of your term as president
5. You’re unbelievably stupid
6. You’re sinfully UGLY:

Have you no shame? Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of fucking decency????

And I’m not talking to Erap. I’m talking to YOU.

You of the masses. I’m talking to YOU, FILIPINO. If you vote for Erap, have you left no sense of fucking decency?

Anyhoosits.

I’m going to wrap this up and start looking for a pineapple plantation.

What for, you ask?

To harvest every freaking pineapple and shove it up your ass, Erap. And then I’m gonna go after every low-life single-brain-celled MORON who voted for you. And I’m gonna shove it up theirs.

Sideways.

Author’s note: I take liberty with Joseph Welch’s rhetoric against Senator McCarthy, one of my personal favorites.

Hope

Busy through much of Friday night, I fell asleep in the wee hours of Saturday morning to what I thought was the refreshing sound of raindrops on my balcony.

I awoke 10 hours later to news that Metro Manila had received a months’ worth of rainfall in only 6 hours. The city that I love was in crisis, and all I could do was stare in horror at the news, and move my car from the basement to the upper podium levels.

I resisted long and hard to post anything related to Tropical Storm Ketsana (aka Typhoon Ondoy). As one of the very few lucky ones to have lost next to nothing, I felt guilt about my good fortune when compared to this:

And even more devastating news here.

Through it all, we see the bigger picture:

That we as Filipinos have been destroying our own cities with wanton disregard. That our politics comes before our problems. That our government is powerless.

…

That our spirit of bayanihan brings us together in times of need. That our sense of charity is alive and well. That chivalry is not dead. That we have not lost hope. That we believe in tomorrow.

That there is still light (and laughter) at the end of the dark.*

Stand strong, Manila. We will rebuild.

*From one of my kids and now registered midwife Flucian, who is a kick-ass trainer and a brilliant mind.

Things I Don’t Understand – The Leash

And yet you won’t allow gays like myself adopt children?

REALLY?

(PS: Deidre, I’m still workin on your meme. It’s a-comin)

Mapplethorpe Has Nothing on Me

One of the things I love the most about traveling is the people.

One of the things I hate the most about traveling is the people.

Having nothing better to do on a Sunday morning, I decided to enjoy the cold front that I brought with me from Dallas to Houston. I parked myself at a corner starbucks and settled in with my copy of Tolkien’s masterpiece Lord of Charrings “The Lord of the Rings”. I have a tendency to get completely immersed in my book, and just as I burst into flaming glory proclaiming

“In place of a dark lord you shall have a QUEEN! Not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn, treacherous as the sea, stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love ME. And. Despair.”

..these two yuppies walked in, ordered their drinks, sat in the table behind me, and addressed the United Nations Peace Council. It wasn’t a volume that subtly hinted, “hey, it’s ok for you to hear this, we’re cool like that”. It was a volume that DEMANDED you drop everything you were doing, crane your neck to its breaking point, and pay some goddamned attention.

I’m dubious the world needed saving on a Sunday morning, and by two yuppies at that. And sure enough, their conversation was sinfully dull. What’s worse: they weren’t even talking to each other. They were both mouthing off on their respective bluetooth headsets.

Throwing caution to the wind (and forgetting that I am in the great state of Texas, where guns grow from trees), I picked up my blackberry and launched into an equally loud conversation with one of my personalities.

So I wake up and there are singles stuffed in my underwear. I’m confused, but pleasantly surprised. But it gets better. I stand and suddenly my butt explodes in a starburst of pain! I go into the hotel bathroom and realize there’s a dead cat’s head sticking out from my ass and what looks like jumper cable marks on my nipples. Cables that I then found in the tub, next to a passed out latino midget. I really need to figure out what the hell happened last night.

I look up and make eye contact with one of the assholes, and wink as his face crumbles into a look of sheer disgust.

They must’ve set some kind of Guiness record for fastest departure from a Starbucks.

And now back to the liberation of Rohan.

I Clearly Need Medications

Disclaimer: This is not a paid advertisement

There is a pill for everything. Depression? Check. Acne? Check. Can’t get it up? Check. Weird tingling sensations on your leg late at night? That’s not just a product of my sick, twisted imagination, it is an actual valid medical condition (Restless Leg Syndrome), AND there is an actual pill for it.

But I thought this was pushing it:

Not happy with your eyelashes?

Yup, there’s a pill for that too. Swallow a little tablet and grow your wimpy frail eye lashes into thick luscious curls that you can crimp or curl or wait, what?

Avitable posed a question to his adoring stalkers readers. What would you do if you won the lottery?

I’d totally get in on this pill-popping phenomenon. And here are the first four pills from The Demigod Pharmaceuticals:

Instant Fleet Week. Not getting enough sailors or military men in your life? Sailoril’s got you covered.

Not happy with your abs? Easy, breezy, beautiful, sixpackamette. You may not be born with it, but nobody needs to know.

Studies have shown Vampirin helps prevent irritation from rabid Teenage Twilight fans. Vampirin should not be taken with anti-depressives as they may result in violent reactions when the name “Edward Cullen” is mentioned.

And the final and biggest cash cow:

Walmartazone is a required vaccination for all visitors to the United States. It helps prevent this.

You’re welcome.

Probably Should Skip This if You’re Fat (Like Me)

Disclaimer: I am in no way an Adonis in the traditional sense. I’m incredibly narcissistic, but that doesn’t mean I can qualify for Miss Universe. I’m fat, I’ve got imperfect skin, cellulite is a permanent fixture in my life, and all those beers are catching up to me. But…

I’m a work in progress. I go to the gym, I attempt to eat healthy even when I’m traveling, and I have a fairly healthy self-image in that I know I need to continue to work towards a healthy physique. The hotness is a nice byproduct (and one I’ve already got anyway. Oh snap!)

That being said, I want shoutout to all the other lovely fat people out there: don’t be a hypocrite and don’t be a victim. If Abercrombie & Fitch won’t hire you as a store attendant, or you get turned down as a model for LA Fitness, don’t run crying to a lawyer and sue. Our society is brand-centric. And a brand isn’t just about a squiggly trademark symbol. It is the feeling invoked by a product and its overall image. And fat really doesn’t fit into the overall brand scheme of Balenciaga.

Stop. Being. Victims. Take personal accountability for who you are. You don’t have to make a change. You can make peace with your body. You can love your body. And you should!

But if you don’t, taking the stand of a victim isn’t the way to go. Grow up. Stop whining. Make a change.

The AntiBitch – Episode 1

Today I think I read one too many blog posts that were nothing but bitching and griping and general boo-hoo-woe-the-fuck-is-me. And honestly, it’s just exhausting.

But I realize it’s incredibly easy to write about something when you’re upset, but writing about happiness is the mental equivalent of inducing labor on a pregnant man.

So today I’m making a conscious effort to be thankful…

1. That in these tough economic times, I still have a place to go to where I get yelled at for a late report. And that the vending machine ALWAYS has diet coke.
2. That my man tits or mits (thanks, Avitable), are shrinking and actually getting some definition, which is: (n). less gross than before.
3. That for an overweight ‘mo, I’m oddly confident in short shorts (so boys at the Renaissance Inn in Weston, FL: I hope you have health insurance because reparative eye surgery is pricey).
4. That despite giving up some luxuries (like food and water and manicures), I still consider myself the richest guy in the world because I have this and this in my life.

What are you thankful for?

Weird Demigod Widgets – Episode 165: Why Yes, It IS All About Me. Again.

So I haven’t blogged in a while. And I agonized about apologizing for it, but a super awesome kick-ass blogger once told me that the answer to life, the universe and everything was 42.

Or I might be mistaking my life for a Hollywood movie again, but whatevs. Life comes before blogging, so I’ll stop blogging about blogging and get on with the actual blogging, no?

(And PS, this was totally ripped from this other super awesome kick-ass blogger)

I Can’t

• stand baked beans. Or spiders. Or squid. Because they’re chewy. Not spiders, squid. Fried squid is chewy. Spiders are hell on earth.
• go a day without some profanity. But I can’t constantly be a potty mouth because my mama raised me to be a lady, ass face. See.
• control my face. Whatever I’m feeling will register on my face like a big, bright, broadway marquee: be it unbridled glee, incremental annoyance, or some stench wafting up from someone’s ‘pits. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, my heart is my face.
• go a day without peanut butter. Seriously. Sometimes I think it’s better than sex. No offense, hun. OMFG. Brilliant idea, hun: you, me, peanut butter, and clothing optional. Thoughts?
• edit myself. Clearly.

I Can

• sing at a Mensa level. I can sing doing pretty much everything. And by everything, I mean “sex”. And by “sex” I mean “cleaning”.
• get lost virtually anywhere except airports. I once got lost inside a 5-bedroom apartment, true story. But I have never, EVER missed a flight.
• be a real bitch but still love you. Because I believe that loving someone doesn’t always mean sugar and honey and cupcakes and unicorns. That shit’s for sissies. I believe that sometimes, loving someone means sometimes kicking them in the ass every so often to help them build their strength. Also, I believe in world peace. *Curtsy
• cry at a TV commercial, and often do. But only the touchy/cheesy ones. Not like the ones for Valtrex.
• color within the lines, which I consider a major character flaw. For all my carpe diem bravura, I have severe authority issues and ALWAYS play by the rules.

I Won’t

• allow myself to be silent about my beliefs. Equal rights. Gay Marriage. Respect for others. Ban baked beans.
• let these two go hungry. Or hairy. They will be fondled. They will be caressed. They will be spoiled rotten. (Go on, click on the link, I dare you).
• let this go hungry. Or hairy. This one will be fondled. And caressed. And spoiled rotten. (TMI Alert. You’ve been warned)
• go into debt in the pursuit of happiness. Because a materialistic kind of happiness isn’t really happiness at all, it’s just more junk you can’t take with you. Unless you’re talking about the Mazda CX9, then I guess I can be buried in it.
• fear death because it reminds me that this moment is the only one I’ve got. And I choose to be happy in it.

I Will

• stop and smell the roses. Even if some flowers give me the wheezings. And of course, there’s always the risk of swallowing an alarmed bee.
• always dance like nobody’s watching. Or like somebody’s filming for America’s Funniest Home Videos. Is that show still on?
• wonder when I’m going to have my Susan Boyle moment. Because I’m definitely crazier than she is and damnit I can sing.
• fight when I know I am right. And not be afraid to rhyme about it.
• apologize when I realize I’ve been wrong all along. And still be unafraid to rhyme about it.

I Shouldn’t

• be so quick to judge. I’m sure the ugly, dumb, fatso has valid opinions too. After all, it wasn’t too long ago that I was an ugly, dumb, fatso.
• obsess about my body so much. It’s managed to come through for me when I needed it most. I heart you, body. You and me should spend some quiet alone time later with my “electric toothbrush”.
• reveal too much information. Lord knows what potential bosses might think.
• stop reading books midway because the author cant hold my ADD together. Wait, what?
• facebook so much that I actually use it as a verb.

I Should

• get a gun. How many gay democrats do you know that own a gun and can actually shoot it intelligently?
• work harder towards my dreams of being a mom (minus the sex transplant, thanks very much)
• really try to control my peanut butter addiction because seriously, I can’t continue to have three “back up” jars just in case nuclear winter becomes a reality and the government starts to ration peanut butter.
• try to control my emotions about my politics. As long as I’ve got my girls and my man, I should be good.
• have this whole World Peace thing figured out by now. Let me get back to work.

Internet, Meet The Other Personalities Sharing This Body

How I Met Your Father — A Continuing Love Story

Of the thousand and one things I want to write about: my recent trips, deaths, births, weddings, health scares, and general hat ass-ery, I found these bits and pieces in my old drafts folder and felt compelled to dust it off and see what it looks like in the light…

This one is for our kids, Gabriel and Katelyn.

Your father is my home.

We could be living in a second-floor apartment that floods, or a roach-infested hole in front of a refrigerator-repair shop (both true), or turning tricks on some dark street corner to support a ruinous habit of collecting Faberge eggs (might not be true). Whatever the situation is, as long as I am holding his hand, I know I’m home (Gabriel, now would be a good time to help your hurling girlfriend tie her hair back so it doesn’t get in the vomit).

In a world where two strangers meet on a Monday morning, get married by Tuesday at lunch, are cheating on each other by Wednesday, and discussing who gets custody of the pets by Friday… 6 years is (apparently) epic. When people find out it’s been that long, we used to have to pay for their reparative jaw surgeries.

That’s quickly followed by “so how did you guys meet?” (or more often than not, it was “how long were you trolling online for this one?”)

Ok kids, grab a blanket, some popcorn, and try to stay toasty. Katelyn, stop hitting your brother with his mitt. Here’s the story of how I met your father…

Would You Rather Wednesdays – The Facial Edition

Hello my internet lovelies. Let me preamble with I am so seriously behind on reading and writing (and ‘rithmetic?) but I just really needed to get this WYRW out of my system.

If you’re new to Would You Rather Wednesdays, Maxie over at ihatesomuch invites discussion on many soul-searching and thought-provoking moral dilemmas.

This is my attempt at cracking open your skull, scooping out your brain and unceremoniously dumping it at a fork in the road, hoping that it will take the road less traveled (for reasons that will become obvious shortly).

So without further ado, let me present this week’s

The Facial Edition

Would you rather:

Cry tears of 99% liquid amoebic diarrhea OR have a fully functional reproductive organ on your forehead?

Things to consider:

1. Tears of poo. I mean, seriously.
2. Tear ducts are connected to the nose. What happens when you just pass gas?
3. Sappy love stories, reminiscing old flames, and onions are forever forbidden in your date itinerary.
4. Sneezing is the new sharting.
5.  If you’re a dude, you will need to have some fantastically ugly glasses to hold up your testicles, or risk bumping into things.
6. Your attraction to that hot copy girl, cute hygienist, or any dead body will be instantly apparent to anyone who can see your forehead.
7. Ladies, one word: MENSES

And if you comment with “eeewww that’s sick, why would anyone want either?” a penis will magically sprout from between your eyes, replete with some voluptuous ‘nads, and then start having anal leakage from your eyes.

Back from the Third World

To… well, the third world. But at least I’m in my comfy apartment.

I have a bajillion and one stories to tell and probably more pictures to post but I just want to say that Nana has finally been laid to rest.

And I can go back shopping. Starting with this:

Bloggy Phimpage

Needing to take a break from the dark and twisty places of my grief (and spelling, apparently), today I pimp out the bloggers out there that have made me laugh, chuckle, chortle, and shoot milk out my nose. My feed reader is like my little jewelry box: some are awesome new pieces that I constantly pick up, look at, and fondle. Some of them are oldies but goodies. Some of them just make me feel funny in my stomach… like a sneeze only better.

LiLu from LivitLuvit. She’s the Karen to my Jack. We would totally do the nation’s capital a LOT of good. Just as long as we don’t have to deal with the poor or ugly people. Besides, her B and my J opens up a world of sex puns! (And yes, I’m sorry I didn’t partipitate in this Thursday’s TMI)

Maxie from ihatesomuch. She’s LiLu’s lesbinim lovah who I am totally jealous of slash fascinated with. I have a feeling that the combined awesome of LiLu + Maxie + The Demigod + Tequila + Boys + DC will be too much for the space-time continuum and rip it into pieces, causing an alternate reality where everyone is born with pink fur, bunny ears, and salamander tails. Either that or I need to dial down my meds. (And yes, I’m sorry I didn’t participate in Wednesday’s WYR).

Martini Mom from I Need a Martini Mom. She’s doing what I should be doing: teaching second graders. Of course if you read through the archives of this blog you’d be hard-pressed to find anybody who’d let me alone around kids, much less teach them. Of course you wouldn’t read through my archives.

And finally, the most awesomest pimpage of all:

Remember this guy? Yeah, we helped him get on the Hot Blogger Calendar. Part Asian, Part shaved head, Part Dad, Part Kung Fu, Part Funny, ALLLLL sexy. (Don’t worry, Teddy Bear J, he only pops up in my dreams every other day now. I still wake up next to you, don’t I?)

So anyways, Busydad is totally flashing the internet. And he’s trying to win Best Mewbs (which isn’t the hippity hop spelling of “moves”, trust me). And I mean honestly, did I mention he was kung fucking fu dad? Yeah. So go vote on this piece of hotness.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta take a cold shower.

Goodbye, Nana

Dearest Nana,

You taught me to find tenacity in the face of grief, to find the joy in the pain, the find the light in the dark. You are strength personified, and today I celebrate your life.

Today you are finally yourself again, unencumbered by wires and tubes and bags and bandages. Today you see Pop-pop again after twenty years apart. Today you are finally at peace.

Thank you. For taking care of me. For feeding me vampire blood. For trying (albeit unsuccessfully) to teach me Mandarin. For nursing the infected rashes on my legs from lying around in the mud playing with marbles. And for ultimately fishing one of those marbles from inside my nose. Thank you for inspiring me to live.

I love you so much.

Tell Pop-pop I miss him, and that he still owes me  gum.

B

Where is My Martin Luther Queen?

I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to top Max Mutchnick’s brilliant article put together my thoughts about what it means to be “non-mainstream gay” but this captures it perfectly.

Dykes on bikes, Tarzana Trannies, Jewish Leather Daddies and Kathy Griffin’s mom. Don’t get me wrong. I love these people. Let’s call them the “Usual Suspects.” They fought for my rights and taught me how to dance. But they should no longer be representing “the pride.” It’s a different time. For god’s sake, Larry Craig is a life-long homosexual. What I’m trying to say is that “unremarkable” mainstream people are gay, too. So I cringe when a local newsperson shoves a microphone in the face of some young 95-pound twink (Straight Translation: a twink is a skinny homosexual with a lot of moxie). The twink looks into the camera and screams into the reporter’s microphone: “Get down here now. The drinks are big. But you know what’s bigger…” He laughs in a high-pitched cackle and his “girlfriends” join in. I wish they’d read more and drink less.

TMI Thursday: Insinuated Edition

You know the drill: join us as we embarass the living crap out of ourselves. Share some completely tasteless, absolutely crass, dear-god-why-is-this-person-even-on-my-blog-reader-much-less-my-friend-when-should-really-call-the-cops-on-this-sick-fuck TMI story of your life.

Why?

Because LiLu, the Karen to my Jack, said so.

In this special edition of TMI Thursday (which is really kind of redundant because seriously, when is TMI Thursday not special?), I’ll throw you a list of random factoids, and you can make your educated guess in the comments!

1. I am lactose intolerant. My body cannot process the milks. The reaction is usually explosive and south of vomit.
2. My horniness is directly proportional to the newness or novelty of the location and position.
3. When I crave for something special, I will move heaven and hell to get it and eat enough of it to stop world hunger.
4. I just recently bought a new bed.
5. I had a massive craving for cookie-dough ice cream on Tuesday.
6. The Teddybear and I just recently got back together after a brief break-up.

And finally, remember this post?

What do you think happened?

Would You Rather Wednesdays

Spawned by the lovingly twisted mind of Maxie, who is LiLu’s special lesbinim lovah (not really, but I’m like, the only gay man who thinks girl-on-girl is hot), I ask you the dumbest question and force you to make a decision.

On this week’s special male hetero edition of Would You Rather Wednesdays:

Would you rather:

Go down on a girl and discover a piece of toilet paper stuck to the tip of your nose… curiously brownish and smelling of copper?

or

Go up the wrong hole by accident and violently pull out an unholy mess onto the sheets, the pillows, and your crotchal area?

Let’s see, with this post I’ve managed to disgust and alienate about 300 readers… I wonder how many more I’ll gross out in tomorrow’s TMI Thursday?

(Oh, and PS: he came back. *sniff)

In Local News

Disclaimer: I may not be a full-blooded Filipino, but I hold the Philippines near and dear to my heart. I’ve come to consider Manila my city, my home. I don’t think anyone would call me unpatriotic, despite what this post may tell you.

Over the years that I’ve spent here in Manila, I’ve learned to threaten with bodily harm subtly influence the things I can change, and to make peace with things I cannot. No country is perfect. The US is infected with Republicans, Saudi Arabia is 300 years late, Japan has cartoon alien porn, and Manila…

Well, Manila is full of fucking idiots.

If you haven’t already, please read the disclaimer above.

Case(s) in point: we Filipinos demand an apology from these Hollywood actors who we THINK have wronged us.

Claire Danes — for saying that Manila “smelled of cockroaches, with rats all over, and that there is no sewerage system, and the people do not have anything – no arms, no legs, no eyes.”

Now, I’m not a big fan of Ms. Danes. I don’t think she can act to save her life, but that’s neither here nor there. In fairness to her comments, she was cloistered in this old abandoned (and by that I take it to mean ‘dilapidated’) hospital in the outskirts of the city to shoot “Brokedown Palace”. I’m assuming there were roaches and rats to add to the ambience, and her Hollywood lifestyle plays a huge factor in her perspective.

Wake the fuck up, Manila. There ARE roaches and rats all over (at least in the ghettos and the inner city, but so does Buenos Aires, Shanghai, or New York)! If you so much as spit in some places, the sewer system clogs up so bad you end up waist deep in dysentery! And many of us are guilty of having no arms to clean up our own city, no legs to walk the talk, and no eyes to see that things can be so much better had our goddamn Juan Tamad (Lazy John) attitude didn’t get in the fucking way.

Teri Hatcher — well, not so much Teri Hatcher as the scriptwriters of Desperate Housewives. In one episode of the hit ABC show, Susan Meyer is at the doctor’s office and the doctor suggests she may just be going through menopause. Susan doesn’t take the news well and says “Okay, so before we go any further, can I check those diplomas? Just to make sure they aren’t from some medical school in the Philippines!”.

Wake the fuck up, Manila. If the quality of medical training here were up to par, then why does the fucking president seek medical attention in the US? At this point, I know I’m going to alienate some of my friends who are doctors, but come on guys. If you had a choice between seeing a doctor that graduated from AMA Medicine College or one that came from Harvard, who would you HONESTLY go to? What about if your child was dangerously ill and you had the money to choose? The medical profession is all about credentials and qualifications. Let’s not be hypocrites here.

PS: Desperate Housewives is a SHOW. It’s SUPPOSED to be entertaining. If you can’t laugh at yourself then stop watching the fucking show.

Alec Baldwin — for joking on late night TV that he needed to buy a Filipina mail-order bride.

*slaps forehead*

WAKE THE FUCK UP, MANILA. Have you seen how many idiotic, brain-dead, money-hungry, gold-digging opportunistic fucks are out there? They span the entire sexual gamut from underage girls to old women to will-be-a-woman-once-i-get-the-money-for-the-big-surgery.  They troll the streets, the girly bars, even the goddamn shopping malls. They litter the fucking internet, inundating craigslist with “h0t p!nay, luKin 4 to g0 to aMer!cA babeh! F0reiGners ONLY!!!!!1!!!”.

The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

The Philippines is amazing and Manila is a wonderful city to live in if you know where to look. And I’m sure we can make it even better. But until we stop wasting our energy on getting mad at Hollywood actors who think that Hollywood is The World, we’re not going to get anywhere.

Let’s fix what needs to get fixed:

• The legitimately slanderous piece written by Chip Tsao. We are NOT just a country of maids. We are artists, designers, media moguls, nurses, teachers, economic leaders, and corporate movers.
• Our Senate wasting time and resources investigating a sex scandal. In my head, Nancy Pelosi is cracking up trying to figure out why a Paris Hilton debacle would come under Senate scrutiny.
• Charter Change or Constitutional Assembly. While we’re at it, let’s find and shoot the motherfucker who dubbed it “CON-ASS”. Let’s just get it done. It will empower the local governments, abolish the senate, decentralize power, and allow for the creation of a federal government with better checks and balances for the office of the President.
• While we’re at it, can we give the copywriters responsible for these lovely gems a big fat bonus?