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… But I’m missing my Muse and I had to

 

Is this the deal, wife?

Live with celibacy?

Cutting a bonsai’s

Not reshaped sexuality. 

Oh, pen those lies…

Put up for posteri-ty!

 

I bought a Gameboy,

I need no PSP (because I’ve)

Cheesy buns, cheesy sauce

Brittle nut, brittle boss

Every day the beer flows!

Bathing really mat-ters to me…

To me.

 

Darna, my kid’s a fan

Sewed a turban for his head

Used my scissors, spool of thread.

Darna, wife was just a nun,

But, yow! She changed her mind for all the waaay…

 

Darna, woo-oooh!

Diddy’s mean when media pry

If J. Lo never married Marc… Antonio,

Party on, party on…

‘Cause bathing really matters.

 

Loo breaks are bothersome.

Sensations ’round that ‘hind!

Bloody latex, bras that bind.

Goodbye, little Narda 

I’ve got your stone!

Valentina’s snakes have died, embrace your youth…

 

Darna, woo-oooh!  (Every day the beer flows)

I don’t want to fly!

Some pals think I never went abroad at all…

 

Iced tea, a bit of Fiorgelatto, leche flan

Para, bus!  Para, bus!  Para dyan sa may kanto!

Kabisote Enteng

Bearing anting-anting.  Hee!

Bali, mayo… bali, mayo… (bali, mayo… bali, mayo…)

Bali, mayonnaise ba ‘to?

(Ding, ang bato!… oh… oh… oh… ohhhhh)

 

I bought a Gameboy, not a PSP

(He bought a Gameboy from a Green-hills tyanggi

Share his delight with his cash scarcity!)

 

Cheesy buns, cheesy sauce, isaw at sago

(Dies mil lang)  Load!  ‘Di Finland Nokia ‘to!  (Nokia ‘to!)

(Dies mil lang)  ’Di Finland Nokia ‘to!  (Nokia ‘to!)

(Dies mil lang)  ’Di Finland Nokia ‘to!  (Nokia ‘to!)

Finland Nokia ‘to!  (Nokia ‘to!)

Finland Nokia ‘to!  (Nokia ‘to!) (Oh… oh… ohh…)

Load, load, load, load, load, load, LOAD!

 

Susmariya, susmariya…

Susmariya, Nokia ‘to! 

Bee-eer sa pub 

Put the bilbil on the sides of me,

Of me…

Of meeeeeeeh!

 

So you think you’ll gulp stone, shout, change, pose and just flyyy…

So you think you can phone me then leave me your dii… al

Tone… baby?

Text or miss-call me, baby!

Whole lotta take-outs… 

Who’ll get to, like, go out for beer?

 

Ooooooh…

(Oh, shyeah… oh, shyeah…)

 

Bathing really matters

Anyone can pee…

Bathing really matters,

Bathing really matters to me.

 

(Every day the beer flows…)

I was against it.  I struggled in vain.  I now happily concede.  It was just damned effective!  Who am I to stand in the way of progress?  And so, thanks to every one of you who showed me the way, I produce this, an award-winning material infused with the power to knock Ogilvy’s socks off.

Dedicated to all the big players of the consumer-driven industries, this ad copy can be applied to almost any product, though sample below shall feature Chiclets.

HEADLINE:  Read This!  So Touching!  A CHICLETS Love Story. 

SUBHEADLINE:  Who Knows?  You Might Meet Your CHICLETS Soulmate!  Make a wish and read till the very end OR YOU WILL FALL DOWN DEAD! 

AD COPY:

When Eusebio saw Tallulah for the very first time, he said, “Daym! That chick is hot.“  He offered her a CHICLET, and she just knew this was the love she were dreaming of.  “I was a playa,” said he, “before I met you.”  Tallulah answered, “You must be mine, only then will I give you CHICLETS, too.”  So Eusebio married Tallulah in their quaint little barrio Maculay.  All was well until the economy worsened and worsened still… and Eusebio was forced to work out of town.  Tallulah decided to work, as well, gaining employment as a production assistant in Eat Bulaga.

Because the daily commute cost 10 pesos per ride at the very least, it was not long before Eusebio stopped buying CHICLETS at the local drugstore or sari-sari store before he goes home.  Tallulah was desolate, but understood the situation.  Soon, Eusebio’s slickness overpowered his better judgement and he was back to his old ways.  However, at work, Eusebio met Cornucopia, who was very attracted to Eusebio’s penchant for Jack Black impressions.  She was unlike anything Eusebio saw before and she blew his mind away.  Now brainless, he propositioned Cornucopia and they agreed to consummate an affair.  It was super fireworks, and to mark the occasion, he gave her a box of CHICLETS.  “How sweet,” Cornucopia cooed.  He contemplated on leaving Tallulah.

When he asked Tallulah for an annulment, Tallulah declared, “Alas, I must for I know your cheating heart.  Even when to me you declared your love, there was Angora.  And Panchita. And Facifica.  YOU GAVE ALL OF THEM CHICLETS!  And it’s true.  Your sister told me.  And I will agree to let you go, for you no longer love me.”

But before Eusebio can dance the funky chicken, Tallulah added, “There is one condition.  You must wait for twenty days, and during those twenty days you must dance the El Bimbo with me everytime you need to get out of the house in the morning.”  Eusebio agreed.  He passed by his sister’s house to unload some termites in the basement on his way to Cornucopia’s.  When Cornucopia heard about the agreement between Eusebio and Tallulah, she sneered, “Hah.  The old hag just don’t know when to quit.  Eusy-Woosy is mine, mine, mine!”

And so Eusebio and Tallulah El Bimbo-ed to start the next few days.  At first it was kind of awkward, flailing limbs about and synchronizing their respective steps — sometimes they hit the doorframe just as they reach the finale.  Eusebio noticed how delicate Tallulah was as she sashayed with bruised elbows.  Funny how he never noticed before, but then they were both too busy the past few years. 

On the tenth day, he noticed they could El Bimbo perfectly to the door with their eyes closed.  But Tallulah was sad.  “What is it?” Eusebio asked.  For some reason Eusebio also felt the sadness.  He handed her a box of CHICLETS.  “Cheer up, here you go.”

“No,” Tallulah said, handing back the box of CHICLETS.  She knew too well just what a box of CHICLETS stood for.  “This is for someone else now.  I shall be leaving barrio Maculay after the twentieth day of our agreement and rent someplace near my office,” she replied, “It’s a nice apartment, but I shall miss the happy days I spent here.” 

Nineteenth day.  Cornucopia heard about Tallulah’s comment, and she was disdainful.  “The witch is merely playing with your sympathies… what’s this?”  In her palm was a box of CHICLETS.

“It’s a box of CHICLETS,” Eusebio confirmed. 

“I don’t want it,” Cornucopia announces, “It’s too sweet.  We need variety.  Get me a box of Nerds.” 

Nerds?  Eusebio remembered the sweet mornings when he El Bimbo-ed with his wife.  How she enjoyed his CHICLETS.  He has seen the light.  He’s had it with meaningless relationships.  “I am sorry, Cornucopia, but I have decided not to leave the CHICLET of my life.”  Cornucopia’s nose flared.  “You cheap, wonky pig!”  She slapped the shit out of him. 

Eusebio managed to crawl back to the neighborhood sari-sari store where he ordered all the CHICLETS the storekeeper had.  He went home to Tallulah and declared, “Honey, I was a loon.  An anchorless bobbing buoy.  Please take me back.  I want to dance and chew CHICLETS with you forever.”

“Oh, Eusebio!” Tallulah blinked back tears.  And they lived happily ever after in the little barrio of Maculay.

Isn’t it touching?  I know!  Get Eusebio and Tallulah’s perfect love life!  Pass this on to 41 friends that you think of everytime you chew a CHICLET and your wish will come true… PLUS!  You’ll get your crush to notice you, I SWEAR. 

Then buy three packs of cherry CHICLETS at your local drugstore, wandering karitela, or sari-sari store, before 5:00 PM today, reciting the latest CHICLET jingle thirty-seven times in front of your father while crossing your left pinkie with your left ring finger.  If by chance your father is not available for this silly albeit REALLY RECOMMENDED, GUARANTEED MONEY BACK ritual, you can substitute the person who last washed the household mop. 

Again, you must do all these, OR YOUR WISH WILL NOT COME TRUE AND YOUR HAIR WILL FALL OFF, AND YOUR PHOTOBUCKET ACCOUNT WILL DISAPPEAR AND YOUR LATEST CRUSH WILL HATE YOUR GUTS AND YOU WILL GET A CUTE ANGINA IN TEN YEARS!  OKAY!  JUST YOU WAIT TILL YOU MEET A CUTE ANGINA!

TAG LINE:  Better be happy and safe than sorry.  Get your CHICLETS!  NOW!

Ka-ching!  Though the body copy is long and its premises are off the rocker, it’s really a wonder ’cause people really read till the very end!  No visuals, mind!  It’s Henry Ford’s ground-breaking, text-crammed ad all over again!  And it’s tested and proven to generate 9.5 out of 10 positive actions, breaking all barriers in the laws of marketing and advertising!  Demographics shmemographics.  Don’t be afraid to apply to other products, too –  maybe a promo campaign for Estee Lauder’s Pure White Linen?  Most appropriate.  A brochure for Skyflakes?  Sky’s the limit!  A supplementary direct mail campaign for Metrobank?  You’ll get a whopping interest rate.  Watch the net profit charts go wild!  The Nacarios can finally retire.

I’ve been mulling over the phrase ‘star-crossed lovers’.  It now seems so simple when one can just say, “Oh, Romeo and Juliet?  Star-crossed.”  Doesn’t look much like a cool metaphor now, but it is, being coined by Shakespeare… and how many twists and turns permutated from that one single piece of classic English lit while I hoped the class instructor would hurry up and touch on the role of the clergy in that story’s pre-age-of-consent teen marriage and suicides already?  Read on.

First, the definition given the context of above example.  Simply put, star-crossed lovers are individuals involved in a romantic or passionate relationship but are just not meant to be, despite their persistence to overcome all odds to be together.  Prerequisites are:

  1. Lovers are totally in love with each other
  2. Lovers do everything in their power to be together
  3. Lovers do not get their way despite Item Number 2; either both go on with life but miserable and not together, or one of them dies. Better yet, both die.

Next, we discuss the words.  The ‘star’ symbolizes destiny, piece of cake.  But ‘cross’ is easily open to interpretation so it’s best we make sure which cross we’re talking about.  At one time it was thought to be ‘to intersect’, and the brain cells were all, what’s the big deal with being star-crossed? The stars crossed paths already, what more do they want?  Shakespeare, however, meant ‘crossed’ as ‘thwarted’.  As in, the stars — the destinies — screwed them over.  And when the light bulb dinged, the call to arms to amend the terminology to ‘star-paralleled’ became unnecessary…

… Okay, I admit, if that last part’s familiar, I can only say it can be traced back to a compendium of madly brilliant ideas that is otherwise known as the high school yearbook. What panache… what imagery!  We were way beyond compare.  Meanwhile, the text beside my picture — my contribution to the mad brilliance — brings DSTS to tears.

Reviewing the Star-Crossed For Dummies notes, we can now confirm people who make the star-crossed list.  Siegfried and Kriemhilde, star-crossed.  Count Laslo and Katharine, star-crossed.  Zagato and Emeraude, star-crossed.  Jack and Rose are star-crossed, Othello and Desdemona are star-crossed… Lancelot and Guinevere also count as star-crossed, but to a lesser degree as they both give up the passion before the mess worsened.

Lancelot and Elaine, not star-crossed.  I mean, sure, there’s the against all odds, do or die obsession, there’s a love child, even, and someone dies!… but the relationship develops only with the aid of a love potion, and the true love is only on one side — Elaine’s.  It’s similar to the unfortunate mess Madama Butterfly was in.  Lesson learned: love potions are the anti-star-crossed, and Elaine, instead, is a pro-active, results-oriented lover who dared laugh at destiny’s face.

Tristan and Isolde are a tricky couple because according to tradition, there’s that love potion again, brewed by Isolde’s grandmother was sent with Isolde’s nurse when King Mark sent for the princess so they could get married.  The potion was meant to be drunk by Isolde and King Mark to ensure the union of two kingdoms, but the nurse carelessly left the bottle someplace, and Tristan and Isolde accidentally drank the stuff together while on board the ship bound for King Mark’s territories.  If there were no love potion, there’d be no love affair; they’re more like clueless kids with bad luck than genuine star-crossed lovers.  It’s also probably why I found the movie starring James Franco, in which the love potion concept was nixed, all the more satisfying for the ‘star-crossed’ thing.  Lesson learned: love potions are the anti-star-crossed, we learned in the previous example of non-star-crossed, but no lover is pro-active in this story.  Instead we have a nurse, an example of slacking individuals in the workplace who deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered as expected by someone as mafioso as Isolde’s grandmother.  And we never know what we’ve got till it’s gone, because in this modern day and age, we can only fire the idiots and content ourselves with writing fabulously stinky referrals.

I don’t think the Brokeback Mountain boys exactly fit ‘star-crossed’, too, because Ennis wasn’t gung-ho at all, and actually wimped out due to his issues. Compare him to Boys Don’t Cry‘s take on Brandon Teena, who also had things to work out on his/her own… now that’s certifiably star-crossed, big time!  Like I said, wimped. Yes, E. Annie Proulx set the original short story in a time when people were more repressed to come out, but the main thing is, Ennis did his part in unrealizing the possibilities with Jack himself, and because he hesitated, we can’t totally blame destiny that they were bummed for the rest of their mortal lives.  Lesson learned: wimpy lovers are the anti-star-crossed, too — they are results-oriented people who thwart destiny’s crossings by not defying their destinies ON PURPOSE.  If you’ve been psyched your whole life to do the star-crossed thing but instead find yourself with a wishy-washy one true love, run away.  Reevaluate your options and plot for more viable star-crossed contingencies.

To end this day’s convolution, ‘star-crossed’ alludes to astrology, which are part of Indo-European culture, and so we keep things Indo-European and pull in the horoscopes to mix up with what was discussed. I present to you the concept of ‘star-crossed’ with chop-suey references, illustrated by a theory on the origins of Anakin and Padme Skywalker.

Anakin and Padme were destined to be each other’s great love, but they come from different worlds.  When Padme was still in her mother’s womb, her mother continued to engage in daily debate with the Senate, which made the baby opt to stay in the womb much longer than necessary that her birth finally had to be induced. Five earth years later, Anakin’s mother, a pregnant slave on Tatooine, was scheduled to haul junk for Watto on the consecutive months his suppliers will cruise by.  Being pregnant is no excuse, though, and Watto then paid a doctor to induce an early birth so Mrs. Skywalker can pop the baby into an incubator — which might’ve accounted for the abnormally high concentration of midichlorians in the baby — and work right on schedule.

And so because of pro-active, non-divine interventions, Padme, who was conceived to be a Yeebek* (Naboo’s equivalent for Taurus), somehow still managed to be born within the Yeebek days, though all planetary alignments got messed up.  And Anakin, who was supposed to be a Joog** (Tatooine’s Capricorn), became a Weggo*** (Tatooine’s Sagittarius).  The love was doomed from the start.

Star-crossed: a new take.

PS — Happy birthday, Ma. I promise to never teach literature for the children’s sakes.

PPS — The part about the Skywalkers and *, **, and ***  are neither canon nor endorsed by Mr. Lucas.

There’s a piece on Discovery Channel featuring William Shatner hosting How Star Trek William Shatner Changed The World.  As usual, William Shatner was hilarious just by being there (and check him out in The AFI Lifetime Achievement Award: A Tribute To George Lucas!).  I don’t care if he’s obviously fat and bald now and that his co-stars hate ’cause he’s the biggest jerk they know… William Shatner is an artist.  He can be as assholy as he likes.

Anyway, the documentary was about how people were inspired by Star Trek enough to invent crazy things that were unthinkable when the show premiered in the 60s from cell phones, laser surgery tools, and tiny, intuitive computers, to human-to-computer bioports and hydrogen-propelled spacecrafts — but are more or less ordinary or being discussed as possible today.  Special appearance of Commander Ryker, too!  Not all dialog was written well and some jokes were too forced, but the pacing of the program was all right and I wasn’t annoyed enough.  In addition, the show was enough to make me wish they’d hurry up with the following: 

Teleporters   Cars. Bad for the environment, and they keep multiplying.  All those Mini Coopers, four-by-fours, and Hummers gave me was ENVY!  They’re the Macs of terrain vehicles and I coveted those nasty things!  And I can’t even drive!  And the jeeps, buses, and minibuses we share with humanity that pollute the air and dislocate my liver just won’t fall apart and die.  We are brainwashed to mind the gaps between the train and the platform, and… those poor cats that drive DSTS to tears.  In theory, vehicles should be limited to domains where life can’t be sustained, like space or deep water, in this enlightened age. 

Electric cars still take up space.  If teleporting technology — the one in which your internal body organs do not get misplaced after transmission — is available, no one would need to fly the friendly skies with strangers in compressed space, fake smiles, and lavatories that look muy gross after a few hours.  We don’t need to make like sardines and smell each other’s scent glands — most of which have gone haywire especially by rush hour — and we can up being late into a high crime punishable by death, thereby controlling this side of the planet’s human populace.  I’d also mention floo powder as another solution, but then this is Star Trek.  Save the earth.  Save your respiratory system.  And save money for…

Replicators   … food.  FOOD.  Some establishments charge a crazy amount of money for food because of the ambience!  The horror.  With replicators, we get good food at the comfort of our homes, without servers who muck up the pronunciation of foreign dishes or think that your finger pointed to that one on the menu.  It will be good for the soul… and food servers will be inspired to do more with their time on earth, like succeed in breaking into showbiz or finishing that thesis paper on thermo-nuclear biology.

Phasers   The fly swatter?  Extremely unhygienic.  A reliable canine you can christen Beware Of?  Too messy.  Pellet propellers?  Most conspicuous and may compel me to, heaven forbid, arm myself with jellybeans and salted peas in moments of desperation.  Eliminate all these bulky, Cro-Magnonic tools and their intended targets with the ultra slim, mega portable phaser!  Twenty assorted beams, each with ten levels from STUN to KILL.  Available in buffed titanium, oxidized onyx, and fuchsia pink*

*   Courtesy of intense training in Robby Rabbit marketing. Never fails, never will.

As every kid who used to wear out third-grade library cards for and waste her savings on Encyclopedia Brown paperbacks knows, the first day of this month fell on a Sunday, which means triskaidekaphobes — or more acurately, paraskavedekatriaphobes — will be preparing for the next big freakout since nine months ago.

I’m not exactly of the finger-crossing, salt-throwing, clover-picking kind  (unless it’s of the cheese flavored variety), but — on this part of Earth, at least — I do confirm things aren’t looking so good.  What can I say?  Same ol’, same ol’.  People expecting a perfect world are nuts. 

There’s a major downswing on results projections and our postal support conveniently mails our stuff so they arrive just in time… for Christmas.  I do NOT have the patience to put up with people who can’t make up their minds about trivial stuff.  There are idiots who think they are the sun, take for granted that your parents brought you up to be as polite as possible in public, and thus proceed to dump such inanely stupid things that you’re supposed to consider as life-altering forks in the road:

Should I choose Orange County Nun or Chromium Whore for my toenails?  Really?  Why?  Hum.  And the other one?  Hum.  But… Orange County Nun makes my knees look gangrenous!

There are hungry kids in Africa and this is my problem WHY?  They refuse to get a clue, even if you’re pounding into their massive, bongo-like skulls, that, after helpfully giving the two cents on stuff that you normally wouldn’t even deign to give time of day, you’ve got a zillion other, more important things to do and you’re just not interested in hashing out every teeny, tiny detail again.  Is there a fine-printed clause in my contract that this is part of my job?  Is it that hard to ask for help, get it, then go?  Perhaps bother other people for repeat runs and just come back and torture me again when there are new non-dilemmas to waste my time with for a change?  Get a freaking nanny? 

The eternal conundrum that is TODAY.  On especially nerve-trying times, we must always dump back dirty stuff where the dirty stuff came from.  I think I will.  And must pack SLINGSHOT.

Life is short and should be too interesting to bog yourselves down with moronic minutiae, but they EXIST!  I hope they just shove their make-the-world-a-better-place-to-live (for them) crap down their throats.  The low blows, however subtle, kind of makes me thankful I can’t generate sharp projectiles from my marrows… imagine the havoc I’d have wreaked upon pitiful humanity!  I’d be, like, walking the path of Loki and Bartleby.  But the living in mediocrity must go on, and what the heck.  Your wit, intellect, and skills not at par with Juana Bee’s?  As long as you’re getting by without resorting to mind-boggling, math-defying ‘five-six’ or ‘four-gives’ arrangements, no problem — at least you’re living within, and not beyond, your means.  He-Bang and Pepong have a problem that you give thanks for the stuff you’re about to receive for which you are truly grateful and enjoy them while you can?  They seriously need to fuck off.  AND, my favorite supposed put-down that… people.  Not really intimidating and just begging to be snarked at: “You’re so selfish!”

For beginners who are easily brought to tears, this attack follows the WHINE-WHINE-WHINE SOME MORE-AND WHY NOT? tactic.  Observe:

“Hi, can you please help me give my platypus a henna rinse today?”

“No.”

“But you’re so good at it!”

“No.”

“But I need to turn the marsupial to my mother spanking hot in, like, two hours!”

“No.”  (Waits for a beat)  “You could ask me why not.” *

“Whynotwhynotforgodssakewhynot.” **

“I don’t see why I need to do it.” ***

“You’re so selfish!” 

Dudes.  Get better results by coming up with something more apropos.  Now, accusations of ‘greed’ is something else and most effective especially IF THE SHOE FITS.  ‘Sloth’ is another.  Telling your daddy, or maybe connections to Don Corleone’s great-great-grandson’s sister-in-law’s accountant’s hairdresser’s partner’s book agent.  Lots of choices here.

And for general food for thought, everyone is selfish.  Which is why I don’t get people flashing the “You’re so selfish!” card!  I mean, if people were all brought up to strive for selflessness, they’d all work for free!  My friends and I would be designing fabulous graphics to support jackasses customers out of love for fellow humans and be singing about it!  Out of key!  And no one would mind because minding your eardrums is selfish!  And there would be no malls and celebrity endorsements and banana turon vendors!  You get truckloads of banana turons FREE! 

A few may say they’re doing things for love, their families, the country, but then again, isn’t your idea of love something that reflects on yourself?  Isn’t your family an extension of yourself?  Isn’t your country, like, a loooong extension of your family, which is an extension of yourself?  There’s enough of the thick-skinned variety who claim they are selfless, offering to do God’s work for the needy, give people good turns every time because it’s the law of Karma.  I’m not saying there aren’t such paragons, kudos to those who really, truly care.  HOWEVER. 

The clincher here is: do you do good deeds and stuff because you truly believe in the dynamics of your chosen philosophy (example: you really love God, He deserves your total devotion and you expect nothing in return), or do you do them because you’re just trying to avoid getting damned (going to Hell or becoming a Brazilian grub in the next life)?  If it’s the latter, then I should say that kind of faith is seriously flawed — you just want to be saved.  Which is a form of, I don’t know.  Selfishness? 

I think selfishness is a given and always something related to self-preservation.  It’s a totally gray area that shouldn’t be overdone or totally eliminated, either.  And the main reason — when you take away all the touchy-feely Oprah stuff — that people tell you you’re selfish is almost always because your selfishness treaded on or did not bend to their selfishness, and in their selfishness they failed to see what you’ve already accomplished or done for them. 

But don’t mind me, yes I’m wigging, but well, I’m pissed off!  Twelve tons of yam need to be digested by a scraggly strand of intestine?  Sure.  So normal.  Live beyond the food chain.  And have a Tic Tac because Wint-O-Green LifeSavers are scarce.

*  Paraphrased from what Maureen “I’m the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy.  Who the hell are you?  Nobody.” Cummings said when her mom freaked out in a scene from Center Stage, a brilliant film exploring the pathos of bad feet, bulimia, and something about a mouse, an elephant, and coconuts.

** Paraphrasing how Mrs. Cummings, freaking out, reacted to Maureen’s scripted question.

*** Mine, to use profusely at any time when necessary.

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