pucha, pare. the sun is up and so's my tuytuy (ilonggo, to guide. pucha-pare-ilonggo, smuy tt). time to get rakin and rolin.
when i was taught about the birds and the bees, pare, it was by my father's soccers colleagues. not that my father played soccer. he just had a fetish for soccer balls. whenever he sees one, he goes berserk and bangs my mother to the wall. as in my mother's blood would be spilled all across the wall, pare. but my mother was a fan of rambo. 'yuuu druuu ferst blaaahd'. and she'll get her hunting bolo and make a necklace out of it, pare. using my father's head to forge the metal into fine links. she'd work at it night and day, day and night, all rice. and my father would be reborn into a 45 day chicken with no balls to speak of and he would be reincarnated into my father again in no time after my mother makes inasal (ilonggo, to stick a spike thru a dead, marinated 45 day old chicken like my father) out of him. i miss my mother's inasal. it tastes like my father. pucha, pare. talk about spirituality.
when i was taught about the birds and the bees, pare, they never included flowers. deym. flowers are supposed the be the subject of the birds and the bees, pare. well, not unless the bird makes a subject of the bees. and then there's the pussy, who'd eat the bird, pare. the circle of life. reincarnation and the wisdom of the soccer colleagues. wattalayf (say that with pizzas, pare. again. wattalayf.)
but but. my bird is also a flower. a sunflower, pare. it'd follow the sun. it rises on dawn. it sinks with the dust, pare.
smuy tuytuy sunflower, pare. coffee and blue skies. don't forget to put rum for that extra kick. and don't bring a soccer ball. my father might see it.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
jabokopiyowli
`cha, pare. i just started my blog with a punctuation. my english teacher will kill me. not because of the caret. maybe because all i did during her class was watch her lean over and take a peek at her panties but found a pair of shorts instead. what fa... complete hair and make-up, mega production before going out of her place and she wears shorts over her panties. talk about national treasures. wait! i learned what a gerrand is. therefore, i will go continuing (just to prove my point that i know what a gerrand is, sacrificing understandability and throwing all my grammatical worries to the wind).
a pucha-pare is supposed to be a laid back animal. however, the times become short, maybe because we (i) grow old and mine goes shorter. maybe because we just need to do so many things but the only thing we really need doing is to do as little as we can. all rice, stop. all rice, go.
let's talk multi tasking. i don't know about you guys but i challenge myself once in a while (what is the square root of 4 in 100 significant digits? 34 (what matters is the speed of which we answer, not the correctness of the answer. think. commit. move on. wrong answers are for losers. quick-shooting-from-the-hip is the pucha-pare-zen).
so, your four best activities done together-forever?
mine's taking a shit while having coffee, cigs and taking a bath. i did this just once, by the way, cause it was a pain to keep the cigs dry and my cup not running over due to the water from my bath. so i'll reduce it to three. scrap the bath. take the dump, the beans and the leaves.
what's your's? tt? you're a boy. pp? you're a girl. kk? you're a wannabee girl. ttmomaykuto? you've got a big problem, pare
chow, dooohd. jabokopiyow muna. (wexed go BLT. but BLT is serial, not mutli threaded. the others? i'll ask. brb)
a pucha-pare is supposed to be a laid back animal. however, the times become short, maybe because we (i) grow old and mine goes shorter. maybe because we just need to do so many things but the only thing we really need doing is to do as little as we can. all rice, stop. all rice, go.
let's talk multi tasking. i don't know about you guys but i challenge myself once in a while (what is the square root of 4 in 100 significant digits? 34 (what matters is the speed of which we answer, not the correctness of the answer. think. commit. move on. wrong answers are for losers. quick-shooting-from-the-hip is the pucha-pare-zen).
so, your four best activities done together-forever?
mine's taking a shit while having coffee, cigs and taking a bath. i did this just once, by the way, cause it was a pain to keep the cigs dry and my cup not running over due to the water from my bath. so i'll reduce it to three. scrap the bath. take the dump, the beans and the leaves.
what's your's? tt? you're a boy. pp? you're a girl. kk? you're a wannabee girl. ttmomaykuto? you've got a big problem, pare
chow, dooohd. jabokopiyow muna. (wexed go BLT. but BLT is serial, not mutli threaded. the others? i'll ask. brb)
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
pinoy bang brother
pare! pucha. (yeah. i got tired of the opening spiel. if anybody has suggestions, send them in. maybe... ) maybe i'll set up a contest. yeah. something like pinoy bang brother, pare.
yeah. and we can rent this apartment, pare. four rooms. set cameras up covering every fucking inch of the place, pare. we will exercise our vouyeuristic tendencies, pare. maybe make a movie out of it. i can see the title... 'boso'.
we can place some pucha-pares and pucha-mares so we can get excited every time somebosy says 'pucha'. or maybe have a contest contesting who made the maniest 'pucha' muras. pare. so like the elections, meeehn.
or maybe put in politicos, pare. and maybe their chichings. yeah. that would be nice. and, and, yeah. make boso with our phone cameras, pare. that would give adult manila online a run for their money, pare.
pucha. this would be a scandal factory, pare. you want a scandal, just check in to the pinoy bang brother apartment, pare.
so yeah. send in your suggested opening spiels and we'll have a raffle. don't forget your name, address, suking tindahan and a pichur of your kk or tt via cellphone.
bang, pare. bang. pucha.
yeah. and we can rent this apartment, pare. four rooms. set cameras up covering every fucking inch of the place, pare. we will exercise our vouyeuristic tendencies, pare. maybe make a movie out of it. i can see the title... 'boso'.
we can place some pucha-pares and pucha-mares so we can get excited every time somebosy says 'pucha'. or maybe have a contest contesting who made the maniest 'pucha' muras. pare. so like the elections, meeehn.
or maybe put in politicos, pare. and maybe their chichings. yeah. that would be nice. and, and, yeah. make boso with our phone cameras, pare. that would give adult manila online a run for their money, pare.
pucha. this would be a scandal factory, pare. you want a scandal, just check in to the pinoy bang brother apartment, pare.
so yeah. send in your suggested opening spiels and we'll have a raffle. don't forget your name, address, suking tindahan and a pichur of your kk or tt via cellphone.
bang, pare. bang. pucha.
aboard, mbord
pucha, pare. so i have this friend living in the states, pare. where the grass is green and the funds are high. when you get to smile and forget to sigh.
when things are keeping you down a bit. rest if you must and forget to quit. pare.
i was saying. i have this friend who lives in the states, pare. very nice guy. he doesn't forget to email once a month. doesn't forget a birthday. always sends pictures. always shares whatever new gadget was acquired. pare, he's living the life, meeehn.
while pucha-pares in the backyard just go for pares and goto, pare. this friend would send in chocolattas fit for the finest local brown girl-next-door-who's-your-daddy material. all rice!
makes me wonder, tho. he wasn't like this before, pare. and i barely knew him. i mean, bare, pare. like he was my first bading.
tarush!
when things are keeping you down a bit. rest if you must and forget to quit. pare.
i was saying. i have this friend who lives in the states, pare. very nice guy. he doesn't forget to email once a month. doesn't forget a birthday. always sends pictures. always shares whatever new gadget was acquired. pare, he's living the life, meeehn.
while pucha-pares in the backyard just go for pares and goto, pare. this friend would send in chocolattas fit for the finest local brown girl-next-door-who's-your-daddy material. all rice!
makes me wonder, tho. he wasn't like this before, pare. and i barely knew him. i mean, bare, pare. like he was my first bading.
tarush!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
bestfriends
pucha, pare. i find myself humming 'we are brothers' by one pucha-pare icon, renaldo valdes (did i get that right? basta yung dooohd sa american idol na hindi naman american).
anyhoo, several things i need to clear out before the dust settles and it goes away with the vacuum cleaning that manang conching does regularly on a base to base casis, pare.
brothers are seldom best friends. i mean, come-pucha-on. did your brother tell you you're his best friend? did you tell your brother he is your best friend? are you sure he is your brother? is he? is your mother really your mother? how old are you? see?
i did a google search for renaldo valdes and guess what?!? come on. give it a shot. did you hit me? are you wearing underwear? your balls are so big i can see it from here. wow! google achuli knows renaldo lapuz! dam doze americans. they even keep track of filipinos.
and what's with this filipino-american thing? godsmellmyass. filipinos search for reflected glory. always. i will not stand when i poo just because they claim to be filipino and because i don't have tisyu and my shet might make kalat. yuch! they have to be filipino-americans! by holly, i haven't had goli.
back to reni (can i call you reni? can i call you george? can i call you mine? uhm. strike the last question...can i call you mine?). dam yu. i've been humming your song unconsciously! are you backmasking your songs from your mouth? can you do that? can i have your autograph?
packshet when sitting. packshet when standing. what do you want me to do? blow you to kingdom come?
leave my thoughts alone! do not backmask. again. do. not. back. mask. mali. ulit. backmask. get it?
pisot (bisayang 'peace, out.' pare).
anyhoo, several things i need to clear out before the dust settles and it goes away with the vacuum cleaning that manang conching does regularly on a base to base casis, pare.
brothers are seldom best friends. i mean, come-pucha-on. did your brother tell you you're his best friend? did you tell your brother he is your best friend? are you sure he is your brother? is he? is your mother really your mother? how old are you? see?
i did a google search for renaldo valdes and guess what?!? come on. give it a shot. did you hit me? are you wearing underwear? your balls are so big i can see it from here. wow! google achuli knows renaldo lapuz! dam doze americans. they even keep track of filipinos.
and what's with this filipino-american thing? godsmellmyass. filipinos search for reflected glory. always. i will not stand when i poo just because they claim to be filipino and because i don't have tisyu and my shet might make kalat. yuch! they have to be filipino-americans! by holly, i haven't had goli.
back to reni (can i call you reni? can i call you george? can i call you mine? uhm. strike the last question...
packshet when sitting. packshet when standing. what do you want me to do? blow you to kingdom come?
leave my thoughts alone! do not backmask. again. do. not. back. mask. mali. ulit. backmask. get it?
pisot (bisayang 'peace, out.' pare).
silence, please
pucha.
uhm.
(shift in seat)
(scratch head)
(more shifting)
*ahem*
(here ya go... )
phrrrrrwaaaaaack-aaack-ack-ck-h-ck-k!
pucha, pare! can you feel it? sama ba nanay? oyeah! did my tear gas tear you apart? deep breathing, pare.
uhm.
(shift in seat)
(scratch head)
(more shifting)
*ahem*
(here ya go... )
phrrrrrwaaaaaack-aaack-ack-ck-h-ck-k!
pucha, pare! can you feel it? sama ba nanay? oyeah! did my tear gas tear you apart? deep breathing, pare.
Monday, January 28, 2008
grass
pucha, pare. so we decided to go out and beat the hell out of nature, pare. we searched for a good place and thought kutipot (cebuano, asshole) would be a great place as any. off we go.
the boys met at the watering hole, pare. the watering hole had a peeing hole and so we decided to take a shower of pee, pare. the trick here is, take as much air as you can and mouth the word 'pee' as long as you can while not inhaling. don't mind the fumes. it. is. ok. it's alright to shiver. think of where the pee came from and you'll all be teleported to bullacon. which is right beside kutipot.
a short trek and some swimming will get one to kutipot. now. problem. the sea which borders kutipot has sea grass, pare. and sea grass, being underwater 1) not shaved regularly 2) underwater is dark and slimy and icky.
our dear friend, tugi-fluffy-tt (aka polgas, then pol, then ka noli, then sgt sabaybunot, then 'fuck-the-whole-cast-call-me-PB'), had some reservation crossing the water gap. 'i don't want to swim. the grass is icky.' wat fa duck!?! a seasoned mountaineer doesn't swim when there are sea grassen (plural for grass, which is a collective noun for great behinds. great behinds being some sense of nostalgic history. one more time all over again redundant, pare.).
and wexed go like 'pichur pichur! at least they'll think i can swim.' true pucha pare fashion, pare.
tugi talked to a starfish. gawi talked about grass. we all gurgled beer.
LSS:
hey. mister dunkin donut. hey mister its a dunkin dunkin donut!
the boys met at the watering hole, pare. the watering hole had a peeing hole and so we decided to take a shower of pee, pare. the trick here is, take as much air as you can and mouth the word 'pee' as long as you can while not inhaling. don't mind the fumes. it. is. ok. it's alright to shiver. think of where the pee came from and you'll all be teleported to bullacon. which is right beside kutipot.
a short trek and some swimming will get one to kutipot. now. problem. the sea which borders kutipot has sea grass, pare. and sea grass, being underwater 1) not shaved regularly 2) underwater is dark and slimy and icky.
our dear friend, tugi-fluffy-tt (aka polgas, then pol, then ka noli, then sgt sabaybunot, then 'fuck-the-whole-cast-call-me-PB'), had some reservation crossing the water gap. 'i don't want to swim. the grass is icky.' wat fa duck!?! a seasoned mountaineer doesn't swim when there are sea grassen (plural for grass, which is a collective noun for great behinds. great behinds being some sense of nostalgic history. one more time all over again redundant, pare.).
and wexed go like 'pichur pichur! at least they'll think i can swim.' true pucha pare fashion, pare.
tugi talked to a starfish. gawi talked about grass. we all gurgled beer.
LSS:
hey. mister dunkin donut. hey mister its a dunkin dunkin donut!
Friday, January 25, 2008
the chi phi pi honor society
pucha, pare. iwas bewildered to the max when i read this. i was blown away. my mind was... blown away, pare.
(give me a chi!) chi: vital energy. the breath of life. best experienced in the morning before brushing your teeth or emptying the remains of your oral cavity (ie dried saliva, phlegm or the liquid counterparts of either or both (OR or XOR, pare.). this is the fundamental cause of life and the determinant of consciousness. most of the time, you'll be unknowingly unconscious once a strong chi comes your way. morning or no. chi is life and consciousness. without it, we are nothing.
(give me a phi!) phi: the 21st letter of the greek alphabet in the 21st century. the most difficult for the palate challenged philippino to phronounce. best action viewed when done by a female. the golden ratio. a proportion which yields an irrational number. a non repeating, non terminating number which caused it to be irrational. it lost its mind. it lost itself. it lost the way along the way. an enigma for the renaissance. an enigma until now. euler's totient equation. stop asking or i will totient you. the foundation of bewilderment.
(give me a pi!) pi: another irrational. will be pronounced as 'phi' for the 'f' challenged. together with 'phi' yields a very interesting organ (phi phi anyone?). the foundation of the ferpect cirle. oh, math is fun (robert kanapi! you will go down the annals of history in its annals. oyeah). math is funny.
payt! payt! (kanyod the hips, double thrust together the words)
we shall be forever in debt to the society that we promise to help flourish and preserve. this is the chi phi pi credo.
(give me a chi!) chi: vital energy. the breath of life. best experienced in the morning before brushing your teeth or emptying the remains of your oral cavity (ie dried saliva, phlegm or the liquid counterparts of either or both (OR or XOR, pare.). this is the fundamental cause of life and the determinant of consciousness. most of the time, you'll be unknowingly unconscious once a strong chi comes your way. morning or no. chi is life and consciousness. without it, we are nothing.
(give me a phi!) phi: the 21st letter of the greek alphabet in the 21st century. the most difficult for the palate challenged philippino to phronounce. best action viewed when done by a female. the golden ratio. a proportion which yields an irrational number. a non repeating, non terminating number which caused it to be irrational. it lost its mind. it lost itself. it lost the way along the way. an enigma for the renaissance. an enigma until now. euler's totient equation. stop asking or i will totient you. the foundation of bewilderment.
(give me a pi!) pi: another irrational. will be pronounced as 'phi' for the 'f' challenged. together with 'phi' yields a very interesting organ (phi phi anyone?). the foundation of the ferpect cirle. oh, math is fun (robert kanapi! you will go down the annals of history in its annals. oyeah). math is funny.
payt! payt! (kanyod the hips, double thrust together the words)
we shall be forever in debt to the society that we promise to help flourish and preserve. this is the chi phi pi credo.
duh-main neym, pare!
pucha, pare. i'm duh-meeehn. and i'm got a duh-main neym, pare!
so what's the BZ-ness of the loveli-ness (hi alma. may your thighs rest in pieces. when you show your thighs in public (hell, no pubic please. kaya nakalbo si joey, na shock ma-shadow) your case would not be indecent exposure but illegal logging)? nothing! a whole crap load, truck load, shit load, my load, of nothing.
just that we just acquired a new duh-main. what's my neym? pucha naman pare! (duh! tamang sagot yan. loko. pati middle name kasama) chupa pera dotdot come! pare. pucha. com.
many thanks bro. you're duh-meeehn. duh-main meeehn. duh-super best meeehn.
so what's the BZ-ness of the loveli-ness (hi alma. may your thighs rest in pieces. when you show your thighs in public (hell, no pubic please. kaya nakalbo si joey, na shock ma-shadow) your case would not be indecent exposure but illegal logging)? nothing! a whole crap load, truck load, shit load, my load, of nothing.
just that we just acquired a new duh-main. what's my neym? pucha naman pare! (duh! tamang sagot yan. loko. pati middle name kasama) chupa pera dotdot come! pare. pucha. com.
many thanks bro. you're duh-meeehn. duh-main meeehn. duh-super best meeehn.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
immaculate conception
pucha, pare. so i was thinking about the dooohd jehsus, pare. there are several theories i have playing in my mind.
one, there is no such thing as 'immaculate conception'. mother teresa should have had plenty of kids if this kind of parthenogenesis abound in humans. (pucha-pares are subhumans. we don't do ourselves pare. we just are.)
two, jehsus was the first rastafarian. not bob marley. bob marley is the carnal reincarnation incarnate of jehsus. which means that the hindii (plural of hindux, single for hindi, which is the wrong way for oo) were right all along.
three, there is no matrix. it was a false name for the spice. melange does not exist. only cinnamon, which can be found in dates. if you don't have a date (you won't get to smell cinnamon), you'll be blissfully single. so was mary when she parthenogeneticized. poor joseph's mojo. may it be in heaven blaspheming like crazy.
four, is twice two. jehsus had very high karma, thus was rereevaluated as a rock star. nay, a holy rockstar.
rastah, maaahn. pucha.
chow main arnaiz (we need to eat so eat we will.)
one, there is no such thing as 'immaculate conception'. mother teresa should have had plenty of kids if this kind of parthenogenesis abound in humans. (pucha-pares are subhumans. we don't do ourselves pare. we just are.)
two, jehsus was the first rastafarian. not bob marley. bob marley is the carnal reincarnation incarnate of jehsus. which means that the hindii (plural of hindux, single for hindi, which is the wrong way for oo) were right all along.
three, there is no matrix. it was a false name for the spice. melange does not exist. only cinnamon, which can be found in dates. if you don't have a date (you won't get to smell cinnamon), you'll be blissfully single. so was mary when she parthenogeneticized. poor joseph's mojo. may it be in heaven blaspheming like crazy.
four, is twice two. jehsus had very high karma, thus was rereevaluated as a rock star. nay, a holy rockstar.
rastah, maaahn. pucha.
chow main arnaiz (we need to eat so eat we will.)
spelunking
pucha, pare. a long time ago in my past life, i was an adventurer. i'd love to explore the great outdoors and the great indoors, pare. dapat both para well rounded.
so, do i look like yesterday? probably not. i took a bath just this morning.
this is a laid back day. my fingers are fidgety so i thought i'd do some grooming pare. took out my brush to nurture my curly, black, one length hair. wha? how long? two centimeters, pare. pucha-pares leave nothing and anything to chance.
back to my fingers. it's the finger, pare. thanks to my fingers i never felt so clean. my cave has been degunked. and the remains of what have been cobwebs in the caverns of my nose shows itself in its boogerrrific splendor.
pare! so ickety clean pare. excuse me while i wrap this in a rubber yuckey. let them amateur forensic scientists think on this one. haw-hi!
(this one's for gawi)
so, do i look like yesterday? probably not. i took a bath just this morning.
this is a laid back day. my fingers are fidgety so i thought i'd do some grooming pare. took out my brush to nurture my curly, black, one length hair. wha? how long? two centimeters, pare. pucha-pares leave nothing and anything to chance.
back to my fingers. it's the finger, pare. thanks to my fingers i never felt so clean. my cave has been degunked. and the remains of what have been cobwebs in the caverns of my nose shows itself in its boogerrrific splendor.
pare! so ickety clean pare. excuse me while i wrap this in a rubber yuckey. let them amateur forensic scientists think on this one. haw-hi!
(this one's for gawi)
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
wet balls of fire
pucha, pare. so i once worked for an IT company. information technology, pare. oh yes. i was the messenger. diba diba? it's so like yahoo messenger, pare. so when i deliver a message, i shout 'yahoo!'. so IT, pare.
so yun na nga. my boss was a PMPM (post menstrual papa manager, aka mashondang virgin). her voice quivered every time she spoke. i always wondered why. being an amateur forensic scientist, i set out to find out.
my forays with forensic science was just happenstance. i was throwing away some garbage one day and found some dessicated man proteins in a rubber yuckey and i was hooked.
isang araw, i just finished my messaging duties, i was called to the grand duty of relieving the thirst of my PMPM. 'tu-uh-uh-beeehg, pu-uh-uuh.' as she lovingly called me in her 30 hertz falsetto. i got the water and handed it to her.
much to my dismay, i saw panties. one might think that this should be a bonus for beeing a yahoo, but nay! she had balls. and her balls moved! and her panties were soaked.
pucha! pare! pucha! my PMPM needed somebody on a three day viagra binge!
i had to go out since my tummy was reverse peristhalsing. 30 hertz. her frequency. the Bene Gesserit witch had me registered. tangna! so that's the reason why she ached and trembled while talking.
talk about being excited all the time. all the time, pare!
pucha!
by the way, her name's roselle. PM (private massage) me for her number. she's waiting.
so yun na nga. my boss was a PMPM (post menstrual papa manager, aka mashondang virgin). her voice quivered every time she spoke. i always wondered why. being an amateur forensic scientist, i set out to find out.
my forays with forensic science was just happenstance. i was throwing away some garbage one day and found some dessicated man proteins in a rubber yuckey and i was hooked.
isang araw, i just finished my messaging duties, i was called to the grand duty of relieving the thirst of my PMPM. 'tu-uh-uh-beeehg, pu-uh-uuh.' as she lovingly called me in her 30 hertz falsetto. i got the water and handed it to her.
much to my dismay, i saw panties. one might think that this should be a bonus for beeing a yahoo, but nay! she had balls. and her balls moved! and her panties were soaked.
pucha! pare! pucha! my PMPM needed somebody on a three day viagra binge!
i had to go out since my tummy was reverse peristhalsing. 30 hertz. her frequency. the Bene Gesserit witch had me registered. tangna! so that's the reason why she ached and trembled while talking.
talk about being excited all the time. all the time, pare!
pucha!
by the way, her name's roselle. PM (private massage) me for her number. she's waiting.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
boom-sha-ka-la
pucha, pare. when i was young and full of hope, i wanted so much to be a t-bak, pare. being a t-bak is a science. let me educate you on the ways and woes of the word.
when the word 't-bak' hits me, it reminds me of two things. first, it reminds me of women and how something so dull and lifeless can be intimate with them. second, and more importantly, are the street vendors.
i'll be straight. if i were to be born other than to be destined as a pucha-pare, i wish i was born in a factory of kewl fabrics and be bordaed (past tense ng borda, pare. you know, the pin-cushion thingy?) into a t-bak. how i'd be clutched in cracks and rubbed by crannies. how it would be to be (tutubi) moist in the darkness in the hallows of good and evil, bad and good. very good!
down to the second point. if i were not a pucha-pare, i will not be a street vendor. because street vendors would give agony to the t-baks! think about it. all day i'd be cramped in moistness, mostly sweat. away from darkness but will never be into the light. running low when the pleez-puliz are high. running high when there's sand caught in the t-bak.
pucha, pare. i swear, i want to be a t-bak but not with a street vendor.
UP! tunay! palaban! makabayan!
pucha, pare. i just heard that somewhere.
when the word 't-bak' hits me, it reminds me of two things. first, it reminds me of women and how something so dull and lifeless can be intimate with them. second, and more importantly, are the street vendors.
i'll be straight. if i were to be born other than to be destined as a pucha-pare, i wish i was born in a factory of kewl fabrics and be bordaed (past tense ng borda, pare. you know, the pin-cushion thingy?) into a t-bak. how i'd be clutched in cracks and rubbed by crannies. how it would be to be (tutubi) moist in the darkness in the hallows of good and evil, bad and good. very good!
down to the second point. if i were not a pucha-pare, i will not be a street vendor. because street vendors would give agony to the t-baks! think about it. all day i'd be cramped in moistness, mostly sweat. away from darkness but will never be into the light. running low when the pleez-puliz are high. running high when there's sand caught in the t-bak.
pucha, pare. i swear, i want to be a t-bak but not with a street vendor.
UP! tunay! palaban! makabayan!
pucha, pare. i just heard that somewhere.
Monday, January 21, 2008
alto sociodad
pucha, pare. so i found myself in another wedding. but before that...
so the wifey and i were running late. we were running around 3.30 pm to catch our doggie. thus running. and we were running so hard time dilated, pare. but when we stopped, time expanded again. thus late.
todo bihis to the max so we can catch up. looking for a cab without any luck. no car today since i ordered the bulldozer to park on the fifth level parking. putcha, pare. i felt the earth rumble. i felt the earth move (under my skin. i felt the stars come tumbuling down, tumbuling down). all the tazis we owned flattened pare. good thing i keep the mazerattis and porsches and ferraris in italy. that way, bagay di ba?
so no cab. good thing there are poor people in our neighborhood so i hailed a tri-zee (tricycle, pare). 'palasyo!' i said. the tri-zee-b (tricycle briber, pare. yes. i have a lisp. di sauce pag wala) said 'where the sinful cardinal lives?' 'sakto dooohd. let's ride.'
we arrived at the mass late only to find out that the sinful cardinal was not living there anymore. i'm sure. i asked the guard!
the priest was already giving out the blood and booty. christ! dang late. good thing we arrived for the free food. god crap (holy shit) with menses (red holy shit!) never tasted so yummy. our tummies were rumbling since it was still reverberating from the concrete downpour caused by the bulldozer, pare. what do you think of me? dead-hungry?
what do you know? tita cory in yellow and her virginal pearls were a few seats away. too bad her daughter's such an oyster (put hot water, the legs spread just like that (right hand snap above right shoulder, snap lower left tummy, snap lower right hip, all in a fraction of a second. head follows snaps. tugi-fluffy-tt style)). 'pssst. tita!' her eyebrows made a show of a cock fight. tangna 'to. didn't even recognize a pucha-pare.
anyhoo, the place stank of old people, old money, old business, and a lot of cellphones. wow. never saw those kinds of models.
yaiks! before i forget, i needed to run to the tri-zee-b to to go home fast. i told him to keep the meter running.
capische, pare!
so the wifey and i were running late. we were running around 3.30 pm to catch our doggie. thus running. and we were running so hard time dilated, pare. but when we stopped, time expanded again. thus late.
todo bihis to the max so we can catch up. looking for a cab without any luck. no car today since i ordered the bulldozer to park on the fifth level parking. putcha, pare. i felt the earth rumble. i felt the earth move (under my skin. i felt the stars come tumbuling down, tumbuling down). all the tazis we owned flattened pare. good thing i keep the mazerattis and porsches and ferraris in italy. that way, bagay di ba?
so no cab. good thing there are poor people in our neighborhood so i hailed a tri-zee (tricycle, pare). 'palasyo!' i said. the tri-zee-b (tricycle briber, pare. yes. i have a lisp. di sauce pag wala) said 'where the sinful cardinal lives?' 'sakto dooohd. let's ride.'
we arrived at the mass late only to find out that the sinful cardinal was not living there anymore. i'm sure. i asked the guard!
the priest was already giving out the blood and booty. christ! dang late. good thing we arrived for the free food. god crap (holy shit) with menses (red holy shit!) never tasted so yummy. our tummies were rumbling since it was still reverberating from the concrete downpour caused by the bulldozer, pare. what do you think of me? dead-hungry?
what do you know? tita cory in yellow and her virginal pearls were a few seats away. too bad her daughter's such an oyster (put hot water, the legs spread just like that (right hand snap above right shoulder, snap lower left tummy, snap lower right hip, all in a fraction of a second. head follows snaps. tugi-fluffy-tt style)). 'pssst. tita!' her eyebrows made a show of a cock fight. tangna 'to. didn't even recognize a pucha-pare.
anyhoo, the place stank of old people, old money, old business, and a lot of cellphones. wow. never saw those kinds of models.
yaiks! before i forget, i needed to run to the tri-zee-b to to go home fast. i told him to keep the meter running.
capische, pare!
Friday, January 18, 2008
UP @ 100, take 2
pucha, pare. hahahahaha! my other article was undeniably famished by my hearty laughter. delirous. goma... i digress.
so there na nga, pare. you have the rayadillo doing their thing with their majings, diba. and the celebrities! omigosh. the big dick was there. the big nose was there. dodong was there rubbing elbows with the big body parts. ewwww.
goma... hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
pucha, pare!
so there na nga, pare. you have the rayadillo doing their thing with their majings, diba. and the celebrities! omigosh. the big dick was there. the big nose was there. dodong was there rubbing elbows with the big body parts. ewwww.
goma... hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
pucha, pare!
UP @ 100
pucha, pare. UP is celebrating its 100th year (i can't spell centi.. senti... ah. pucha!).
so there we were, pare. all the pucha pares. we went to the oblation. dun sa tapat lang ha. not the main road. those were for real taga-UP pucha pares.
so we were there, pare. goma was there pare. pucha, pare. he went to UP? hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
pucha, pare.
so there we were, pare. all the pucha pares. we went to the oblation. dun sa tapat lang ha. not the main road. those were for real taga-UP pucha pares.
so we were there, pare. goma was there pare. pucha, pare. he went to UP? hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
pucha, pare.
okininam
daykingdamkam
daywilbedan
onertasitis
inheben
gibusdisday
awrdelywugiwugi
andporgibasawrtets
asweporgibawrtetors
andlidasnatintotemteshun
batdeliveraspramdadebil
pordaaaaayn
isdakiiiindam
andapawer
andgloooo (hawak kamay) ri
poreeeeee (hawak bayag) eee (pisil bayag) ber
emen emen
daywilbedan
onertasitis
inheben
gibusdisday
awrdelywugiwugi
andporgibasawrtets
asweporgibawrtetors
andlidasnatintotemteshun
batdeliveraspramdadebil
pordaaaaayn
isdakiiiindam
andapawer
andgloooo (hawak kamay) ri
poreeeeee (hawak bayag) eee (pisil bayag) ber
emen emen
Thursday, January 17, 2008
smegmatic personality
pucha, pare. pukingnamongkupalka!
so there i was, right? down in shangri-la, right? the one in edsa corner shaw, pare. not the one near heavens high or hell so low. so there i was. all by my lonesome. cool doohd, pare. so 'pucha', pare.
so yun na nga and there it was. lo and behold. nice chic chick. complete package. fully loaded. todo ogle to the depths tong the eyes, kung-makuha-ka-sa-tingin mode.
todo follow. todo scanning radar all the way. christmas is long gone and my lone ranger goes jingle bells.
tangna. some doohd suddenly ejaculating (look it up the dick-shun-ary, dodo) "hang sahrap ng aish teee" while looking at the chic chick's dodo. eh pukingnang-kungdikabanamangago. sobsaben-uhten. pogi ka nga, may pera ka nga. wala ka namang modo. pucha-pares unite!(because i said so.) we are against such alta sociodad lowlife! (because i am *the* pucha pare. besides, i miss rexie "state of eternal drunkenness (way ko gaagi di (pointing to 'hubog') ga direcho ko di (pointing to 'ma-oy') (i hate lisp but i need to nest parens. sowi)" demogena, ultimate lord kainam. chi phi pi, payt! payt!)
so, pare. this is an act of public service. please, gehls (kuya germs, kay ba yan?). whenever you are in the company of harsh, smegmatic, pucha-pare wannabees, please send my regards and give them a happy slap on the face. put in a twenty peso bill to send them home, too.
kupalkakingnamo. pucha, pare.
so there i was, right? down in shangri-la, right? the one in edsa corner shaw, pare. not the one near heavens high or hell so low. so there i was. all by my lonesome. cool doohd, pare. so 'pucha', pare.
so yun na nga and there it was. lo and behold. nice chic chick. complete package. fully loaded. todo ogle to the depths tong the eyes, kung-makuha-ka-sa-tingin mode.
todo follow. todo scanning radar all the way. christmas is long gone and my lone ranger goes jingle bells.
tangna. some doohd suddenly ejaculating (look it up the dick-shun-ary, dodo) "hang sahrap ng aish teee" while looking at the chic chick's dodo. eh pukingnang-kungdikabanamangago. sobsaben-uhten. pogi ka nga, may pera ka nga. wala ka namang modo. pucha-pares unite!(because i said so.) we are against such alta sociodad lowlife! (because i am *the* pucha pare. besides, i miss rexie "state of eternal drunkenness (way ko gaagi di (pointing to 'hubog') ga direcho ko di (pointing to 'ma-oy') (i hate lisp but i need to nest parens. sowi)" demogena, ultimate lord kainam. chi phi pi, payt! payt!)
so, pare. this is an act of public service. please, gehls (kuya germs, kay ba yan?). whenever you are in the company of harsh, smegmatic, pucha-pare wannabees, please send my regards and give them a happy slap on the face. put in a twenty peso bill to send them home, too.
kupalkakingnamo. pucha, pare.
the wedding
pucha, pare. so i was in wack wack, right? and when i was entering the main building, wafts of different perfumes attacked my nostrils. you should have seen my nose flaring and the revulsion that my nose hairs experienced. it was a sight to behold (i carry a mirror with me all the time so i can check myself out. and my nose too. this is essential pucha-pare gear.)
so fine. i wore my laid back pucha-pare garb. black shirt. leather sandals. pucha-pare levi's jeans. and the folks wearing the icky perfume wore gowns and suits. what the? (regain composure... now na!)
i was invisible. those darn pucha-pare wannabees walked as if they didn't see me. i go fish out my cricket lighter. yellow. not the red one. reds are for feiry nights. yellow. stark contrast with my red marlboros. only whores smoke menthol. only weenies smoke lights. real pucha-pares smoke reds.
i light my joint and inhale til my soul's tinggil (ilonngo: clit) tingled. they finally see me. knee jerk reaction these jerks, pare. seems like they saw some big threat in me they started whispering. "who's that? why is he here?"
well, i go "i live here. and you can ask me straight." taken aback these acting-rich-kids wannabees. tangna, pare. can't believe? "ninth hole. 10 meters away from the green. 10 degrees on your left while looking at the mango tree."
hah! come pass by my tent when you have the time. i might have ice cold water while you're trying to demystify why you're such a lousy 12-under-par. i might even lend you my 7-iron. in your dreams, you can never be in my jeans.
capische! (putcha-pare spelling, din-mak shoa-zhu style)
so fine. i wore my laid back pucha-pare garb. black shirt. leather sandals. pucha-pare levi's jeans. and the folks wearing the icky perfume wore gowns and suits. what the? (regain composure... now na!)
i was invisible. those darn pucha-pare wannabees walked as if they didn't see me. i go fish out my cricket lighter. yellow. not the red one. reds are for feiry nights. yellow. stark contrast with my red marlboros. only whores smoke menthol. only weenies smoke lights. real pucha-pares smoke reds.
i light my joint and inhale til my soul's tinggil (ilonngo: clit) tingled. they finally see me. knee jerk reaction these jerks, pare. seems like they saw some big threat in me they started whispering. "who's that? why is he here?"
well, i go "i live here. and you can ask me straight." taken aback these acting-rich-kids wannabees. tangna, pare. can't believe? "ninth hole. 10 meters away from the green. 10 degrees on your left while looking at the mango tree."
hah! come pass by my tent when you have the time. i might have ice cold water while you're trying to demystify why you're such a lousy 12-under-par. i might even lend you my 7-iron. in your dreams, you can never be in my jeans.
capische! (putcha-pare spelling, din-mak shoa-zhu style)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
first blaaahg
pucha, pare. welcome to my blaaagh. i'm growing old and i can't remember stuff anymore and so i thought i'd agree with my good buddy allan 'maniniyut' barredo to start this blaagh.
first things first, lest i forget what i'm supposed to blaagh about.
so the wifey and i went to wack wack last night. no, not the nocturnal, visiyan, literally-torn-in-half humans down in the visayas. the golf club. it's nice to be back in my old stomping grounds. yeah. i used to stomp the earth. technology hasn't invented the compactor back then. stomp the ground before planting bermuda grass and pissing over it so it'll grow green and lush and everything nice. only to be clubbed by them old farts wearing strange hats and costumes and speaking english as if they're pucha-pare friends.
nice too, since the tazi driver that drove the tazi (yes, redundant) knew the place. so we didn't have to look for the air-conditioned veranda. talk about verandas. aren't they supposed to be like so al fresco? only old farts can think like that. i digress.
the tazi driver, aka tony, knew mayor lim. the immediate question was 'does mayor lim know you?'. anyhoo, tony and mayor lim had a meeting some time last year in the main golf club building. reason why he knew his way around.
the nerve. the candor. the shameless name dropping. now that is a true pucha-pare. cheers to tony! and cheers to all pucha-pares.
first things first, lest i forget what i'm supposed to blaagh about.
so the wifey and i went to wack wack last night. no, not the nocturnal, visiyan, literally-torn-in-half humans down in the visayas. the golf club. it's nice to be back in my old stomping grounds. yeah. i used to stomp the earth. technology hasn't invented the compactor back then. stomp the ground before planting bermuda grass and pissing over it so it'll grow green and lush and everything nice. only to be clubbed by them old farts wearing strange hats and costumes and speaking english as if they're pucha-pare friends.
nice too, since the tazi driver that drove the tazi (yes, redundant) knew the place. so we didn't have to look for the air-conditioned veranda. talk about verandas. aren't they supposed to be like so al fresco? only old farts can think like that. i digress.
the tazi driver, aka tony, knew mayor lim. the immediate question was 'does mayor lim know you?'. anyhoo, tony and mayor lim had a meeting some time last year in the main golf club building. reason why he knew his way around.
the nerve. the candor. the shameless name dropping. now that is a true pucha-pare. cheers to tony! and cheers to all pucha-pares.
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