It all started one April morning after finishing college for six years. Applying for a job scared the hell out of me even if I had an excellent transcript to boast of. Besides, I didn't really know what I wanted out of life. No, that's not right. I knew what I wanted. The problem was I wanted to be everything -- a copywriter, a news correspondent, a scriptwriter, a production manager, an editor and a researcher. But the bigger problem was deciding which of those positions I wanted very much. So, to keep myself from thinking about my future for a while (like maybe a hundred years or something ), I thought I'd write a book. Ha-ha! That's right. It's an absolute scream! I mean, I couldn't even finish a crappy story!
But then from out of the blue, it struck me! (Didn't leave any bruises, thanks a lot.) Books don't necessarily have to be a story or a novel for that matter. So, why not do a compilation? Yep, that's right. A compilation of the "best" and the "worst" I've written. This will keep me busy. It would also be something to show off to my children and grandchildren in the future. Something they'd laugh about after seeing re-runs of old home movies (as if I own a video camera right now. )
Oh to hell with what people would say. I am going to do this. For some laughs. A few guffaws. A little diversion.
So I plunge ...
Thanks a heap to the following (even if they'd never be able to read this):
DESIGN 5 a.k.a Architect What, for without him, I would have had no one to practice my talents with. All those with dirty minds, go dunk yourselves in a pail!
ELIZABETH PEREZ a.k.a Babeth P. in shorts and THE AGENT from Bulacan, for keeping the creative juices flowing and intact during the years when we still met eye-to-eye.
SO-SO GRADES and PLUTO of the execrable THE GEEK TRIUMVIRATE (me being ARNIstotle to complete the trio), for the outrageous letters and the "dream-on meetings of the mind."
SEAWEEDS, DORKY and MADER DIR for believing in me (Suckers!) and encouraging my poetic tendencies. (Aaaaaaaargh!)
The star-struck MS. (S)CAREY, for bringing out the best (and the worst?) in me.
and of course ...
JINGLE MAGAZINE (the chord book) for being there when the dreaded epidemic comes to visit.
Friday, March 03, 2006
The Single Woman and The Insensitive Cretins
"When are you gonna get married?"
"Whack! Pow! Splat! Bang!"
That second line should be the response to the bomb question that falls on every unsuspecting single woman. Every time an insensitive cretin drops the question innocently, the single woman should automatically execute any of the following:
a. hit the cretin with a microphone (a la Divina Valencia)
b. punch the cretin on the nose the Batman way
c. throw a pie aimed at the cretin's face
d. shoot the cretin's private organs and mouth "I'll be back!" with glee.
Sounds violent? Blame it on watching too many violent movies like Pulp Fiction and Natural Born Killers. Calling the attention of Oliver Stone and Quentin Tarantino! Can you help?
Hard to do? May be. You need to guest in a tacky showbiz talk show first to re-enact that microphone bashing episode of Rumors, Facts, and Humor years ago. You have to watch Batman re-runs (starring Adam West) for lessons in punching cretins such as the Penguin's henchmen. You have to buy a pie crust and lots of whipped cream. You need to get a license for the gun that you're going to use. And you need to practice saying "I'll be back" the way Arnold S. delivered it on the big screen.
Tough to do? If it's any consolation, those vile and violent acts are just part of a fantasy. A fantasy every single woman can resort to in order not to:
a. develop an inferiority complex worse than an ostrich's
b. murder someone the way Kevin Spacey did in Seven
c. confine herself to the psychiatric ward for the criminally insane.
Let's face it. Some people can really be cruel. They revel at the idea of watching a single woman cringe, feel uneasy, and break down in front of their eyes. They realize that the marriage question makes a single girl feel like a freak especially if all her classmates in high school and in college have gotten hitched. Or if her sister has met her Prince Charming and the single woman has not even met her Frog. Or if all her gay friends have gone to San Francisco to be declared domestic partners. And yet these insensitive cretins still ask that question.
What could possibly be their reasons? These?
a. They're plain cruel.
b. They themselves have no partners in life. By asking the marriage question, they transfer their feelings of freakhood to the single woman and gain instant but temporary superiority.
c. They're all social scientists doing an experiment on the single woman's pain threshold.
d. They're all part of the production staff of defunct shows like Wow Mali or TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes or maybe Victim and Punked.
e. They're old ladies who are all friends of the single woman's mother.
f. They're unfeeling istupidents who want to get back at their single female teachers who gave them a very easy pop quiz.
Well, are you the single woman? Or one of the insensitive cretins?
"Whack! Pow! Splat! Bang!"
That second line should be the response to the bomb question that falls on every unsuspecting single woman. Every time an insensitive cretin drops the question innocently, the single woman should automatically execute any of the following:
a. hit the cretin with a microphone (a la Divina Valencia)
b. punch the cretin on the nose the Batman way
c. throw a pie aimed at the cretin's face
d. shoot the cretin's private organs and mouth "I'll be back!" with glee.
Sounds violent? Blame it on watching too many violent movies like Pulp Fiction and Natural Born Killers. Calling the attention of Oliver Stone and Quentin Tarantino! Can you help?
Hard to do? May be. You need to guest in a tacky showbiz talk show first to re-enact that microphone bashing episode of Rumors, Facts, and Humor years ago. You have to watch Batman re-runs (starring Adam West) for lessons in punching cretins such as the Penguin's henchmen. You have to buy a pie crust and lots of whipped cream. You need to get a license for the gun that you're going to use. And you need to practice saying "I'll be back" the way Arnold S. delivered it on the big screen.
Tough to do? If it's any consolation, those vile and violent acts are just part of a fantasy. A fantasy every single woman can resort to in order not to:
a. develop an inferiority complex worse than an ostrich's
b. murder someone the way Kevin Spacey did in Seven
c. confine herself to the psychiatric ward for the criminally insane.
Let's face it. Some people can really be cruel. They revel at the idea of watching a single woman cringe, feel uneasy, and break down in front of their eyes. They realize that the marriage question makes a single girl feel like a freak especially if all her classmates in high school and in college have gotten hitched. Or if her sister has met her Prince Charming and the single woman has not even met her Frog. Or if all her gay friends have gone to San Francisco to be declared domestic partners. And yet these insensitive cretins still ask that question.
What could possibly be their reasons? These?
a. They're plain cruel.
b. They themselves have no partners in life. By asking the marriage question, they transfer their feelings of freakhood to the single woman and gain instant but temporary superiority.
c. They're all social scientists doing an experiment on the single woman's pain threshold.
d. They're all part of the production staff of defunct shows like Wow Mali or TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes or maybe Victim and Punked.
e. They're old ladies who are all friends of the single woman's mother.
f. They're unfeeling istupidents who want to get back at their single female teachers who gave them a very easy pop quiz.
Well, are you the single woman? Or one of the insensitive cretins?
Crabby Doors
It was just one of those slow nights. Nothing exciting, nothing novel. No needle to prick her aorta nor a tap for some knee-jerk reaction. A head spin would be fun but a spin doctor was nowhere to be found. Bored to kingdom come, she tried opening doors one by one trying to check if there’s a fat, maybe even malnourished chance, that life exists.
Door #1 had crabs in a huddle. Political battle was their tea of kettle.
Door #2 showed school crabs running around without any crustacean marm to bring order to disorder.
Door #3 revealed lovers exchanging a plethora of woes that she’d like to hose.
Door#4 exposed crabs in dishevel, a misplaced navel, an erotic novel, and a piece of shovel.
Door #5 portrayed working class crabs exchanging jobs and dodging jabs.
But as she glided lazily towards Door #6, it suddenly opened and a shadow became alive. It had the eyes of a snake fresh from a quiet storm…and it made her feel really warm.
Pardon me for being silly. I’ve just had a bowl of chili. Burp. Ahihihi.
Door #1 had crabs in a huddle. Political battle was their tea of kettle.
Door #2 showed school crabs running around without any crustacean marm to bring order to disorder.
Door #3 revealed lovers exchanging a plethora of woes that she’d like to hose.
Door#4 exposed crabs in dishevel, a misplaced navel, an erotic novel, and a piece of shovel.
Door #5 portrayed working class crabs exchanging jobs and dodging jabs.
But as she glided lazily towards Door #6, it suddenly opened and a shadow became alive. It had the eyes of a snake fresh from a quiet storm…and it made her feel really warm.
Pardon me for being silly. I’ve just had a bowl of chili. Burp. Ahihihi.
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