ten-fifteen a.m.
i haven't used periods with respect to the meridians for quite some time. nyhoo, pare! wasak?
wasak na naman my nose. used the elevator this morning in the aforementioned time. i was up but i was really up after wafts of complex esthers torturously tortured my tortured nose.
why are body odors so damned odorous. aside from that, they have the gall to stick around and stick on your clothes. bringing them around and being reminded like a nightmare.
i know. i know. smoking kills. but i'd like to kill all those doohds who leave their esthers around. i mean, i don't mind if the esther was a girl. but for hulu's sake, don't use the elevators! use the stairs instead. >:)
pis awt, pare!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
order vs chaos
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putang ina. nakakangawit yun ha.
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putang ina. nakakangawit yun ha.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
boombastic
pare! pucha! i am awake. or rather, i was awakened.
the elevator was quiet. there were only three persons in there. a chinese expat, myself, a whole lotta fat. i tell you pare. it seemed crowded. not because the space was small, mind you. but because of the reek of a dead rat. or i thought it was.
the quality of the pungence was devastating. even my dead kulangot which hung dearly to my very few, but thick and healthy, nose hairs was hanging on to dear death. not life. death. i wangts to stay fucking dead, mehn.
it was being called to life thru the ethers of a dead rat. or i thought it was.
hmmmm. i'm going in circles already. haven't you noticed? kumapal ang titi ko. tinigasan na pala. na excite sa amoy?
di naman amoy kyamoy. the chinese expat was ok. since he was still able to talk chinese over the phone. me, i was talking to the `langot (short for kulangot, gets?) in me to stay dead. i mean, the cute (i seldom have cute `langot. most of the time they're so big you'd think my nose just expectorated china... hmmm.. no wonder i have little space for my brain left) `langot was shouting 'please let me stay dead! please!'.
so yun. there was a mild ting-ting and the big ball of lard went out of the elevator. and lo and behold. death to my cute `langot.
i mean, let me be clear. us puchas have nothing against fat boys. just that they just need to just take a just bath just about every just day.
gets?
kapesot (i-e problems with most putangnang-mga-bisaya-yan) pare.
the elevator was quiet. there were only three persons in there. a chinese expat, myself, a whole lotta fat. i tell you pare. it seemed crowded. not because the space was small, mind you. but because of the reek of a dead rat. or i thought it was.
the quality of the pungence was devastating. even my dead kulangot which hung dearly to my very few, but thick and healthy, nose hairs was hanging on to dear death. not life. death. i wangts to stay fucking dead, mehn.
it was being called to life thru the ethers of a dead rat. or i thought it was.
hmmmm. i'm going in circles already. haven't you noticed? kumapal ang titi ko. tinigasan na pala. na excite sa amoy?
di naman amoy kyamoy. the chinese expat was ok. since he was still able to talk chinese over the phone. me, i was talking to the `langot (short for kulangot, gets?) in me to stay dead. i mean, the cute (i seldom have cute `langot. most of the time they're so big you'd think my nose just expectorated china... hmmm.. no wonder i have little space for my brain left) `langot was shouting 'please let me stay dead! please!'.
so yun. there was a mild ting-ting and the big ball of lard went out of the elevator. and lo and behold. death to my cute `langot.
i mean, let me be clear. us puchas have nothing against fat boys. just that they just need to just take a just bath just about every just day.
gets?
kapesot (i-e problems with most putangnang-mga-bisaya-yan) pare.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
pucha's guide to happines
i should be smiling my gums out until they dry. it would be hard to close my mouth when that happens. i mean, pare, what would it take to make a pucha happy? huh? let me count the ways.
a pucha can be happy when he can:
1) should be able to curse anytime, anywhere on the top of his lungs. remember, a pucha is a smoker. nay. a marlboro red smoker. take your lungs out. place on some cushy surface. step on top of it. now swear like you had no lungs. remember. you are on top of it.
2) should be able to check out them mares (female horses. the pucha is a male horse. and should be big like a horse. loves red horse. red bull. and anything in between).
3) drink like there's no tomorrow. a pucha is essentially an essentialist. a pucha loves essence. like the essence of chicken. the essence of perfume. the essence of alcohol no matter what form. anything that has essence. like whispering to a horse. whispering until he is hoarse. a pucha is always haorse, since he loves to shout on top of his lungs. there is no tomorrow. there is only the essence of tomorrow. thus, a pucha, when he drinks, doesn't think of tomorrow. only the essence of tomorrow. thus, he gets drunk in the essence of tomorrow, today.
4) a pucha should shit his spirit free. breathing in the essence of the four winds. it spirals down the innards of a pucha. the spirit cannot go out of the horse like vegetable-oirgan of a pucha. only life essence is allowed to flowe out of there. yeah. like water. like water for chocolate. like chocolate to suppress primal urges. or just maybe climb up a tree and wail like a cat in heat. kasi nga mataas ang araw. kahit ikaw magrereklamo. back to the spirit. the spirit should be shit free. kung hindi, your burp will smell like shit.
five. six. seven. eight. nine.
capische! (feeling french ako ngayon. like, would you like to french kiss my armpits?)
a pucha can be happy when he can:
1) should be able to curse anytime, anywhere on the top of his lungs. remember, a pucha is a smoker. nay. a marlboro red smoker. take your lungs out. place on some cushy surface. step on top of it. now swear like you had no lungs. remember. you are on top of it.
2) should be able to check out them mares (female horses. the pucha is a male horse. and should be big like a horse. loves red horse. red bull. and anything in between).
3) drink like there's no tomorrow. a pucha is essentially an essentialist. a pucha loves essence. like the essence of chicken. the essence of perfume. the essence of alcohol no matter what form. anything that has essence. like whispering to a horse. whispering until he is hoarse. a pucha is always haorse, since he loves to shout on top of his lungs. there is no tomorrow. there is only the essence of tomorrow. thus, a pucha, when he drinks, doesn't think of tomorrow. only the essence of tomorrow. thus, he gets drunk in the essence of tomorrow, today.
4) a pucha should shit his spirit free. breathing in the essence of the four winds. it spirals down the innards of a pucha. the spirit cannot go out of the horse like vegetable-oirgan of a pucha. only life essence is allowed to flowe out of there. yeah. like water. like water for chocolate. like chocolate to suppress primal urges. or just maybe climb up a tree and wail like a cat in heat. kasi nga mataas ang araw. kahit ikaw magrereklamo. back to the spirit. the spirit should be shit free. kung hindi, your burp will smell like shit.
five. six. seven. eight. nine.
capische! (feeling french ako ngayon. like, would you like to french kiss my armpits?)
Thursday, November 13, 2008
nuninu
can't sleep. haven't posted for a while. like 3 hours ago. before that. days. weeks even. months? years? too tamad (the disease that killed the rolling stones, ie, sakit sa bato) to switch back and see my earlier than latest entry.
what to do. what to do. it's boring here. maybe it's time to go blog hopping and make okray (badedesh term for that slick, snotty (like sipon pare) organ... err.. vegetable... alright, your organ maybe a vegetable. you need the blue pill, kiddo) now i lost count of the parens i made... anyhoo...
yeah. maybe make it a weekly thing. that way, i can attract more readers. you want trash, i'll give you an ashtray. yeah.
kapisot (small kapish), pare.
what to do. what to do. it's boring here. maybe it's time to go blog hopping and make okray (badedesh term for that slick, snotty (like sipon pare) organ... err.. vegetable... alright, your organ maybe a vegetable. you need the blue pill, kiddo) now i lost count of the parens i made... anyhoo...
yeah. maybe make it a weekly thing. that way, i can attract more readers. you want trash, i'll give you an ashtray. yeah.
kapisot (small kapish), pare.
jungle bells
pare! wasap? wut?!? can't hear ya. sorry.
i heard someone say that christmas is just aroungd the corner. i went to the corner. nope. no christmas there. i went to the other corner, no christmas there too. so wtf?!? wut?!?
i notice christmas trees on many corners tho. funny thing is, those are not real trees. thanks be to gawd, the pader, and the mader. no wonder our forrest are nude and therefore no more forrest. see? a nude forrest is not a forrest. a nude tourist is not a tourist. the tourist will be jailed. the tourist will become a prisoner. because the tourist thought it was free. it is a tourist because it is a neuter. and neuters don;t engage in sex. why is the tourist jailed when it is a neuter. because the neuter grew balls to get naked. see the logic? wut?!?
back to christmas trees. they are not real trees. thus, christmas is not real. it's just an appointed day where we fool kids that there's a santa. and santa is a pedophile because there are no elves. or dwarves. just kids. see? wut?!?
and reindeers that fly? no way. hmmm. if santa comes from the north pole and he brings presents to chimneys all over the world, that means he's not flying. he's falling. like from north to south falling. he just has good timing. and timing gives santa many many kids. and kids make toys. and toys make kids happy. what a tautology. wut?!?
have you seen a reindeer fall? or fall with a reindeer? no. i live in the philippines. no way there's no fall here. well, we fell for gloria. what can i say? wut?!? yeah. i said 'wut?!?'
kapish. time for kopee.
i heard someone say that christmas is just aroungd the corner. i went to the corner. nope. no christmas there. i went to the other corner, no christmas there too. so wtf?!? wut?!?
i notice christmas trees on many corners tho. funny thing is, those are not real trees. thanks be to gawd, the pader, and the mader. no wonder our forrest are nude and therefore no more forrest. see? a nude forrest is not a forrest. a nude tourist is not a tourist. the tourist will be jailed. the tourist will become a prisoner. because the tourist thought it was free. it is a tourist because it is a neuter. and neuters don;t engage in sex. why is the tourist jailed when it is a neuter. because the neuter grew balls to get naked. see the logic? wut?!?
back to christmas trees. they are not real trees. thus, christmas is not real. it's just an appointed day where we fool kids that there's a santa. and santa is a pedophile because there are no elves. or dwarves. just kids. see? wut?!?
and reindeers that fly? no way. hmmm. if santa comes from the north pole and he brings presents to chimneys all over the world, that means he's not flying. he's falling. like from north to south falling. he just has good timing. and timing gives santa many many kids. and kids make toys. and toys make kids happy. what a tautology. wut?!?
have you seen a reindeer fall? or fall with a reindeer? no. i live in the philippines. no way there's no fall here. well, we fell for gloria. what can i say? wut?!? yeah. i said 'wut?!?'
kapish. time for kopee.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
time to get serious
pare. pucha. wasap? wat?!? not even tuytuy's up? too bad.
anyhoo, i'm filled up to the brim i'm not even sure if i'm drunk or not. whatever which way, my way or the hiway, let's not let it get in the way.
it is time for some social commentary. wat yu say? nah. i love jessica zafra but she might choke (on her cup of coffee, not on anything else. bashtush!). i'm not out to rule the world. only the pucha-pare empire.
so, you better watch out. i'm giving you the hataw and you better not cry. i'm sick and tired of shutting up and looking like a dimwit.
at least, when i'm writing, i may sound like a dimwit. and dimwits have their stories, too.
anyhoo, i'm filled up to the brim i'm not even sure if i'm drunk or not. whatever which way, my way or the hiway, let's not let it get in the way.
it is time for some social commentary. wat yu say? nah. i love jessica zafra but she might choke (on her cup of coffee, not on anything else. bashtush!). i'm not out to rule the world. only the pucha-pare empire.
so, you better watch out. i'm giving you the hataw and you better not cry. i'm sick and tired of shutting up and looking like a dimwit.
at least, when i'm writing, i may sound like a dimwit. and dimwits have their stories, too.
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