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.