Me and Twitter

Suddenly realized I go into Twitter rants like Kanye.

I am such a Kanye West.

If I Were You, I'd Hit On Me Too

I just had a real life Marshmallow test. And I'm glad I passed.

Been working out a lot lately, and I've been noticing some improvements. Not enough to land me a cover gig, but from where I was before, it's a definite step up. So, I was really tempted to post a photo of me shirtless.

BUT I realized, posting a photo of me shirtless now would lessen the impact of me posting the results when it's more drastic. I want to go for drastic, it's more dramatic. So I hold it off, arguing with myself that it's gonna be more impactful in a few more weeks if I work hard, work harder, work hardest even.

Which led me into think about other solutions. Like digital enhancement. I have a friend who's amazing with Photoshops. But that got me into thinking: digitally enhancing my photos means I'm giving up. It would mean that I've accepted that I do not have control over my reality, so I digitally alter it. I can't have that, I can't accept that.

Look, it's more than vanity, beyond narcissism. When men post shirtless photos of themselves, it's not because we're vain. It's because we feel good about the sense of accomplishment that our hard work. Looking good is the pay off, we don't show off the struggle.

You have to understand where I'm coming from. I wasn't born with good genes, I have so little to work with. For me to actually be noticed and appreciated for my looks is a big deal because I wasn't born into it. It's like how people who suddenly find themselves in the possession of an insane amount of fortune can't help but bask in the goldshine of it all.

My insecurity has reached a new low

Saw this guy who has massive arms. I kept looking at them and then I looked at mine, and then, because I can't accept the fact that he has bigger arms despite looking puny, I bumped hard against him to check out if his arms are made of muscles or blubber.

It wasn't made of muscles. His arms are made of jelly. Shit, boy, why you so fat?

It made me feel good for a few moments before I realized what I had done. My insecurity has reached a new low, to the point that I would violently bump against a random stranger just to prove a point.

What have I turned into?

Officially Entering Hot Territory

I think I've finally entered the category of Hot.

Last Wednesday, I was at the gym, when two teenage Korean boys felt me up.

Backtrack: they came in, and did their sets. They were lithe, nubile, and very slender. One of them looked like a doll, the other looked like one of those androgynous Japanese rockers. They were lifting very, very light weights, and they kept giggling. 8 reps a set, followed by 30-seconds of giggling. It was all very amusing, and uplifting, considering my other option for live entertainment was a chubby, sweaty guy who kept making weird noises. I think, I'll sign up for the giggling effeminate foreigners.

So, when they're done with their work out, they hang out outside, by the bench, smoking. I passed by the door to get my bag (the shelves are near the exit), and they waved at me to join them. So, I did.

That's when they started feeling me me up. "How long have you been working out?" said the one who looks like a Japanese crossdressing rock band vocalist. "Oh, this is really good." He was squeezing my chest.

I'm pretty sure it was devoid of malice, and they were probably just looking out for an achievable goal to set their eyes on. But whatever it was, it felt good to be felt up by strangers. The last time I was felt up by a total stranger was in the MRT, and I'm not entirely sure if it actually happened or I imagined it, having issues with my personal space and all.

Now, I have a new motivation. To work out harder, bulk up, and maybe, the next time someone feels me up in public, I'll get to charge a fee for it or something.

Best Reply to Girlfriend / Boyfriend Testing Text

As we are all guilty of doing it, so have we all experienced getting an anonymous text offering some no-strings-attached good time. After the initial thrill, what we worry about next, of course, is 'what if it's a test'?

Indeed. What if it's a prank message from a friend, pulling a fast one on us? OR worse, what if it's from our girlfriend/boyfriend testing to see how we'd react in such a situation? Is it one of those damn-if-you-do-damn-if-you-don't Alfred Hitchcock situation where everything spirals out of control as you descend to madness, murder, and mayhem?

Worry not, for there IS a certain way in which you can handle this delicate situation.

The correct response, of course, is REJECTION.

"Sorry. I can't come over to penetrate you so good you gonna be blowin bubbles out of your juicy pussy. It's not that I'm not interested, but because I'M IN LOVE WITH THE ONE I'M WITH AND I WOULDN'T DO ANYTHING TO HURT HIM/HER."

Of course, by replying so, you've turned the tables around. Now it's YOU testing THEM. If you have indeed been subjected to a prank text, then you've passed the test with flying colors.You've proven strength of character, integrity, and other values that members of the Philippine congress could only wish to possess.

However, if it's a bonafide booty call from a stranger, then you're not really rejecting them... you're spurring them on!

After all, to someone nasty, the only thing better than casual sex is forbidden casual sex.

By informing the stranger that you're taken, you've given them the idea that you're coveted but can't be achieved. You're good enough to be with someone, so that's a plus. And by rejecting the advances of a stranger, you've proven that you don't come easy.

IF the stranger is nasty enough to persist, then congratulations. A persistent booty call from a stranger can only mean slight desperation and daddy issues. Two things we're all looking for in someone we want to penetrate.

So there. Hope that helps!

Let Us Put Ourselves in the Presence of the Dark Lord Cthulhu

"Jesus Fucking Christ," my friend Earl said, hitting my harm with his puny fist. "And you call yourself a worshipper?"

I was helping him bake cupcakes for the big bonfire the next day. By helping, I mean I was trying not to jizz on his batter when he stepped out to smoke.

"What," I said. "Just because I'm non-practicing doesn't mean I've lost my faith in Cthulhu."

"But this is more than being active in the cult," he insisted. "This is fighting for our faith."

He was trying to convince me to go to the bonfire where other members of our cult were going to burn copies of the new Penguins Classic print of "The Call of Cthulhu". A lot of worshipers felt offended by the depiction of Cthulhu, drawn wearing a tuxedo, a monocle, and sporting a well-combed mustache like an ordinary mortal.

Look, I see their point. I know how this depiction of the Greatest of the Elder Gods, He Who Waits And Causes The World Anxiety in His Slumber, He to Whose Sludge We Are Spawned, He Whose Almighty Tentacles Shaped the World and Shall Destroy It, could have been offensive. I imagine Saddam's children would have been offended too had their father been depicted as a soft, warm-hearted leader who ruled democratically like a shaved vagina.

Do I find this image offensive? No, BUT I can understand why some people would find it so. A lot of worshipers draw their personal strength from their faith in the great, fearless and fearsome Cthulhu. When they were starving, Cthulhu was there to give them the inspiration to sell their children to prostitution for food. When they were sick and weary, Cthulhu was there to cause them even more sickness and trouble. Indeed, there is no malaise in this world which we couldn't thank Cthulhu for. Putting that mound of pubic hair on his face is disrespectful to the great power to whose Wrath we are at the Mercy of.

Yet, we must look at the work and consider its intention before we start burning copies of the book, like in that fairy tale for children (if you haven't read "Sodom and Gomorrah" as a kid, I suggest you look for a copy now; it's an excellent, uplifting tale I first encountered when I was a 2nd Grade student in Notre Dame of Greater Manila).

Was the work meant to offend? Maybe. Or maybe it means to offend those who take Cthulhu's image lightly. Maybe it means to ask us how we've been connecting with Cthulhu lately. Maybe it means to incite us to react, stir in us reactions so strong that we would either question our faith or stand up for it.

In that sense, the work has served its purpose. As soon as the Can-toi Bishops of Cthulhu in the Philippines saw this work, they were organizing mobs and book bonfires.

But, what if we jumped the gun too soon? Was there really any harm in letting the cover art foster more discussion, provoke dialogue between those who have fallen into the cracks of disbelief and despair? Was Cthulhu's earth-shattering will ever threatened by this work?

What Would Cthulhu Do with this cover? Would he order its immediate eradication? Would he really be so petty as be affected by this?

I look at this cover, and I don't see hate for Cthulhu. Try as I may, I can't look at this artwork and see any reason to repress or suppress it. It's an artist's representation of his concept of Cthulhu, and his concept was meant to trigger reactions from the audience. Yet too soon did we deny others their right to agree or disagree with it when we decided to feed it to the Almighty Cthulhu's cleansing flame.

I may not be a practicing worshiper of Cthulhu. I haven't bled any virgins on my sheet and offered the blood to his Omni-reaching Tentacles. I can't remember the last time I beheaded an innocent, or when our family last celebrated R'lyehmas.

My faith in Cthulhu is personal. In my daily trials and tribulations, I turn to him to strike my enemies dead. When filled with envy for the success of others, I take a moment to thank Cthulhu that one of their loved ones may have mental retardation. I feel the warmth of Cthulhu's tentacles around my shoulders whenever I was feeling insecure for my failure to cause another person's complete ruin before I turn the age of thirty. And when the end comes, I believe that on Cthulhu's wings I shall soar over the razed landscape of my rival's utter destruction.

But, come on, guys. It's a fucking artwork. What harm can it do?

On Family Reunions

"So, when are you going to get married? You're not getting any younger, you know," one of my distant aunts asked me when I was 14. 


"When are you going to have kids? Why don't you have kids?" I overheard another aunt ask one of the married couples.
I don't get why some people think they're obligated to monitor other people's life choices given what little blood you actually share with them. I have grown to realize that there are questions you don't ask people because you don't know what they're going through.

You don't ask people why they're single, or why they're still childless. Not only is it not your business, it's also a dumb question to ask unless you are really wondering about how normal people function in society. People don't ask YOU why you threw your life away and married a tricycle driver before any of you were old enough to vote. People don't ask you why your vagina never seem to dry up, constantly popping out one of your pesky kids who come to beg every Christmas.

I don't come to your face and ask you about the status of your lovelife. I just assume you don't have one, because, you know, you're ugly.