Sunday, June 26, 2016

Crying, Laughing in Malacañang by Critically Ill Patient

I decided to resume my sojourns that were stopped when I had flying over fatigue when I was in Europe. Just think feasting on a table full of nearly untouched leftovers (the best of French and German, Romansh - Swiss canton of Grisons - cuisine). Then gorging just a few gallons of 100 year old or older wine. Haay! It was a feast without anyone to share it with.  (That's my problem with being a member of the cawacwacan clan, duh!)

I landed in Malacañang one night after the elections and I was shocked after hearing a kind of wolfen howl from one of the rooms in that place famously known as a snake pit.

A huge ambulance vehicle was there and a lot of people in white - apparently doctors and nurses complete with nurse caps. They all appeared to be discussing a "patient". Word went around back and forth about "blasted Cabinet Secretaries not attending Cabinet Meetings of President Noy".

"Galit na galit talaga!" was the buzzword. "Inaatake siya!" was a scare word. "Baliw na baliw na talaga!" was repeated many times as a pejorative, it seemed from my own take of the situation. "Sabi ng PSG 'Basted' siya ni Mam Leni Robredo kahapon. "May mga iba na ako no! sabi daw ni Mam Leni." I wish I am updated with chismis (gossip), didn't get that much.

"Walang nangyari sa kanila daw." Some said, "Talaga, walang nangyari? Owwws?"  That however, I did not understand.

One Very Critically Ill Patient in Malacañang
When I snuck my latest newly minted Sam--- mobile phone into a crack on the roof, this was the image I got. It was of the idiot who got himself installed in the Philippines' highest office by accident and by fraud.

* * * * * * *
A Little Nostalgic Journey
Of all the cawacwacan I know, no one seems to have the same class and ability as Yours Truly, who models (and now does Designs, a promotion for moi) and jetsets among Kings, Princes, Sultans, Sheikhs, and Presidents, Prime Ministers, oh as well as too many unmentionable pseudo Mr. and Ms. Big Time.

The ones they call the closest friends of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, the illuminati, are the real Mr. and Ms. Big Time. Have you ever heard of fake royalty? Wow, they have lima-singko (five pieces a nickel) in Italy, even Sweden, Russia, Spain, France and many other places.

I will never miss the real ones from the fakes. Aside from being a part of my cawacwacan clan, I think I have a rare talent for being born from my Nanay and Tatay with a photographic memory. Hmm, stop smirking there inggit lang kayo (you're just jealous).

You wouldn't believe it but some of the fake royalties I saw have Filipina domestic helpers as wives and girl friends and fiancees.  Pero, the ones who are doing the huthut (golddigging) are the fake royals!  OMG! Imagine our poor little Pinay house helps falling deep into a trap and becoming sex slaves and milking cows.

Hey, my dear beloved Filipinos, please help educate all our relatives that there are real fake royalties and fake everything else out there! Look at the fake 'rich Kuryanos' and 'heir to riches Hapon' etc. etc. that turn into frogs and sadists when our Filipinas marry them through mail order bride companies. Tsk, tsk.

Anyways, enough for those blasted bad marriages, basta don't let our Pinays be victims abroad anymore.

In my last sojourn in Switzerland, after a really glitzy fashion show where moi was the star of the event, just being modest, I really got into bad, bad shitty fix. There was this suave, about 50ish handsome, not yet balding but almost there, denim clod man.  He was in the company of what looked like his dad, a 80ish guy holding a walking cane.

This guy seemed familiar to me, as if he was one of those I saw that owned a 200 square meter unit at Bonifacio Global City and who always ate at one of the restos at 9th Av. in the same place. My condo is just above his fav resto so I trailed him from there to his unit. His property is long and his balls are small, so good for me. But we never got to get introduced properly.

So anyway, he was one of those from the crowd that eyed me with real delish in his face, his whole body - at least it seemed to me. (Banidosa. So what, hmp.)

I trailed him when it was nearly time for my getaway (so I slacked, what then) and ended up in a villa on the outskirts of Zurich. (Geneva is the political capital but Zurich, my fav city is the Swiss fashion capital - Beste Art und Weise Stadt der Welt).

There they were, dining like there was no tomorrow, my belly ached.

Suddenly, like a spy, my ears turned hot when they mentioned the word "Aquino"!  Uy, wow, I said, that was something I must listen to!

So I tried to insinuate myself into the insides of the villa using all my powers of concentration and shapeshifting abilities from my cawacwacan heritage, thanks Lola, Nanay and all my forebears!

I did it, finally! I was inside, posing as a harmless ... (secret), perched on the high ceiling of my crush - I wasn't really sure yet if he is the same guy but my gut is never wrong.

So I listened while they had their over-supper chat and post-meal beer and wine swigging. They had little appetite for the mountains of food on the table, I found out later, but they appeared to be starved when it came to their alcohol. They drank and drank until the wee hours.

I saw some of the documents they glossed over and when the two retreated around the time nearing sunrise (very bad time for me), I sneaked up on their leather cases and read and read and read as if also, there was no tomorrow.  For several times I got startled by noises coming from nowhere. But I took a photo with my necklace cellphone of the top page of the largest document file I snuck out. It looks like this:

Then I went to the cellar where they kept their wines, drank some from the bottles after gorging myself from their tables above and pretended to be a mouse and slept.

When nighttime came again, I went home and wrote down this part of one document from memory. The title of the document was Philippinen wirtschaftliche Supermacht bis 2020:
Amongst the factors, that helped torpedo the transfer of Philippine deposits from one country alone, ours: Switzerland, to the Philippines was the special request of Madame Cory Aquino as President of the Philippines to Herr Minister Peter Muller of the Swiss Ministry of Finance to allow the transfer of funds to pass first a conduit account and thereafter to the Philippine Government account.
Herr Minister Muller asked Madame Cory Aquino if she could send over to his office the details of the conduit account Madam Aquino wanted the Swiss deposits to pass through.
Madam Aquino gave Herr Muller just the numeric of a Swiss Bank Numbered Account. Aside from the numeric, nothing else was given by Madam Aquino. Herr Muller forwarded the numbered account to the Honorable Switzerland Superior Court and awaited the ruling by the Court. After receiving the awaited response, Herr Muller proceeded to call Madam Aquino and stated thus:

Philippinen "Perspektiven der Wirtschaftssupermacht - Status und warum die Geldtransfers Marcos Schweizer wurden nach 1986 Gestoppt

The Philippine President’s special request was denied by the Honorable Swiss Superior Court on the premise that the Court's findings showed that the numbered account Madam Cory gave was a private, personal account opened by and for the use of Madam Cory Aquino as a private citizen and is not imbued with any public interest and will not serve the public welfare.
The transfer of the funds from Switzerland to the Philippines was stopped by the Honorable Swiss Superior Court indefinitely; up to now no significant transfer ever took place any more. To compound the difficult situation the Honorable Switzerland Superior Court was in, Madam Aquino, from the very words of Mrs. Imelda Romualdez Marcos herself, was extremely thoughtful for herself and her own relatives and best friends.

The legal documents prepared by lawyers and other interested parties such as then Solicitor General Francisco Chavez, Atty. Franklin Drilon for the Honorable Superior Court and the Government of Switzerland reveal each Madam Cory relative was named as Beneficiary to receive at the very least 1% of the total Marcos deposits.
However, for such relatives the share sometimes went higher than 1% specially for Madam Cory herself and her children, relatives Jose S. Cojuangco, Jr., Margarita Cojuangco, etc. etc.
Solicitor General Chavez, Atty. Franklin Drilon, Philippine Delegate to the Asian Development Bank Atty. Joker Arroyo, and scores of other hangers on were to receive at least 1% per person.
All told, these recipients would receive a tremendous percentage of the Switzerland deposits of the late Pres. Ferdinand Edralin Marcos.
To complicate all these matters, the United States of America supposed designated Representatives at a later date, tried to insinuate themselves into the deal and was demanding 42% of all the hidden wealth in both the United States and Switzerland claiming that the redemption currency was after all in United States Dollars.
Today, under the new administration, the Philippines can set sights on being a distinguished and economic might in the international community. The Philippine nation, as small as it is, has the capability and the wherewithal to achieve a very high, respected status in the global economic circuit.

H.H. M.
Geneva, Switzerland

I read about the accounts of the Philippines now lying dormant in Switzerland.  I read through all the documents saying there were deposits in more than 170 countries all over the world that up to this day have not been touched at all.

Hundreds of pages I ran through contained the names of all those banks.  How did Switzerland get hold of all the names of all those banks?  There were nearly or more than a thousand of them all in all!!!  Small and big, then very, very big banks. And all those amounts, very staggering!!!  I forgot I was a wacwac.

To me who has earned around a few million in foreign money - my best incomes were in Shanghai, the best fashion city in the whole of Asia - I am true true truly humbled. OMG!!! All those zeroes, Aguuuuuuuuuy!!! If just a pinch will fall into my bag, ayayaaay!!! I'd stop working altogether and even promise God, I will no longer be a wacwac anymore.  Hmmm, something for the books, that.

So till here folks, my dearest beloved readers, till my next flight... 

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Journal on the days before Manila trip

I'm back in Manila. Wow! Can't believe the relief from all the work related stress and fatigue. Nothing like seeing your own people and your little fave things in the place you call home! hmmmm.... it's like I'm settling into some inertia and there's absolutely nothing I so want to do about it. Good to be just lazing around and at night... well, partying in my own little asuwang way. hik hik hik hik!!!

Five days before I returned I was doing my fairy rounds in Paris. A group pandering to the sights and the little kids playing even in the late night hours in the city public square caught my attention, so young looking, so smooth skinned but I can smell their ages and I can seen through the lines of their cosmetic surgery.

Don't care really if it's because my profession is in the fashion industry or just my being asuwang - that makes me quite a super detector, detective, whatever.  They were old! And I overheard a man calling one of them, Your Majesty My Queen. Huh?  What are they doing traipsing in public places in indifferent France? They could be bombed to oblivion by terroristes and no one will pay attention!  Yikes!  Here they pay attention more to someone like me walking their streets and suddenly one or two will reach for my butt to pinch it. Yuck! But when an old man rolls in the street after losing his walking cane - even if the poor guy gets run over - no one really minds.

Everyone to their own business of pinching puwets in France and loving mistresses and girl friends, talking up to eternity about wine, politics, couture and revoluccion to the exclusion of everything else! C'est terrible!

The pretend young-at-hearts did not catch my fancy after my first glance and a little harmless ogling at their necks and skins, a little listening to the beat of their hearts and organs. These group must be eating human liver for breakfast! They had strong hearts and good blood flow.

I liked them already at that very instant. Supposed to leave them for my fated fairy rounds, but I heard them mention the magic word: "...Banignow ... (inaudible words) ... the one they call Pheenoy?  He's coming to us here. That's not the reason we're seeing each other today ... (inaudible words) ... 

Ooops! I nestled upon a really nice fashionable looking tree in keeping with my tastes and preferences and wanted to eavesdrop but they looked to be on their way to some meeting. Before finishing the kodaking with my cell phone I hurried on the way to catch up with my super sexy looking lolos and lolas.

Oops! so sorry about my fingers! :)
Hey! don't blame me if Eiffel looks like it fell [down].
I'm the flying photog what can I do?

At the end of the park near the Hôtel Pas de Calais, a not so really wonderful and class traveller's residence, the group settled and entered a big gleaming, black luxury coach that sped off in a jiffy.

At the address number 11 rue Berryer, not far from where we left, the pretend young-at-heart elderly alighted and entered a building with an imposing structure and a small sign that read Hôtel Salomon de Rothschild.

The hôtel otel appeared to be off limits and despite the aroma of too much food being prepared by the hôtel kitchen, I couldn't smell any large group of humans in the entire structure. Everyone inside aside form the old ones looked to me to be the hôtel staff.

Most were in uniforms anyway. I sensed that the group had taken their sweet time chatting, moving an inch at a time, about things I didn't comprehend and reached what seemed like a dining area. I landed upon a skylight or more aptly a roof window and had a good view of the room. It had a tastely name - Lounge of Honour.

A good number of hôtel otel personnel were in attendance for the elderly group that seemed to me to be like really venerable guests.

I so liked the that the ladies among the staff curtsied and the men bowed each time, so old-fashioned and so chevalier chic.

There was small talk and while I was contemplating suddenly of my upcoming trip back to the Philippines, I heard my brain radar sparking to attention once more.

Elderly Female (look-alike of Prince Charles' mom): "Banignow Akeenow, that idiot wants to be second timer head of that forsaken state."

Elderly Male: "What can you say, he's so unpopular with those rotten, dirt poor people being bled by chinamen, and now koreans, and malaysians-indonesians."

Elderly Female (she seemed to be steering all the talk): "Well, if its true tell him when he comes around to our town that he's a fumbling baboon for saying so. And we can't allow him to do that. Can you imagine how many nincompoops he hired to make deposits of hundreds of millions of dollars that I ordered stalled in my banks? That silly small brained boy does not know his marbles! Stealing even my donations to that damned science project called Yolanda. Good heavens!"

More Elderly Male (2): "God forbid we give him that second chance! Can you even nourish the thought that all the shiploads of canned goods my family gave to the victims kept appearing in malls and stores owned by chinaman friends of that numb-brained boy and his ugly sisters? Oh Lord, what has gotten into that little hideous thieving country! Very unsightly, mind! I vehemently would like to even oppose his stepping on our shores if it were all up to me! Shit!"

Elderly Female: "My dear Fabrizio and Sir Winfried, let him be on this trip to town. I was the one that invited him after all."

More Elderly Female: "We should've nevah have let that stupid fart sit in that country. Absolutely no pedigree. The mother was a cunt peddler - look at the sister - with an Elektra Complex, running around chasing old men's penises."

Elderly Female: "Margarethe! Such language! Shut your trap!"

More Elderly Female: "And I just won't! Keep that monkey you invited away from me as far as far can be! I don't even want to see that beast's shadow!"

Demure Elderly: "And I heard right that the fellow is not heterosexual too! I guess I can invite him to my house Dear Elizabeth? Will you grant me that favour? I have pets male and female that are so in heat right now, I could use the service."

Elderly Female: "Damn that boy for the faux pas he's getting all of us into! And stop kidding here, we have important matters to discuss after dinner!"

Seductive Elderly Female: "Susan, what about the sister with Elektra Complex, will she fall for my thing? You know that I'm old too, but we just won't admit all of us here that we are! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Elderly Female: "Hush, hush all of you, enough of that talk. Eat everyone. Dear Sir Rothschild, let the courses be served. Let's cross the bridge when we are about to tell that worm brain to get the hell out of office. He doesn't deserve more than a minute of our precious time."

Rothschild: "Ahem, yes Your Majesty. (Not looking at the staff, makes the order.) Oy, you heard Her Majesty, The Queen!"

Nearly every single one of the staff suddenly appeared like magic with platefuls of servings of this or that dish. Oooh! my mouth started to water.

So feeling too starved on top of that grandiose and pompous feast, I decided to go on the run for the rest of the night on my fairy rounds. I hoped to find a preggy little lady, instead of so many elderlies with quaint smooth skins and bad language to boot.

Now that I am back in Manila, I keep asking the question, what will happen to the Pnoy then when he meets his Makers?

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Coffee in Paris

While my legs and body aches from oh so, so many sessions on the ramp, yuck, I decided its time to give myself a little gift. So I took a leave from all the gut wrenching, soul stressing work and rested for a few days.

On the fourth day of seeing sights, wandering around the Fashion Capital, Paris, France, I met up with an old friend from Mindanao.

She has a perfume I envy because I cannot buy it since my ex boss owns the company and I hate my ex boss. Her name is Elnorah but I call her Elm Tree and she works like crazy as a publicist at a company called Neo or somesuch, that sells nice and high prized footwear. Oh! I exclaimed, I love thaat sooo - I am so like Imelda, I love shoes soooo much! She agrees, knowing my habits, likes, peeves and every one in my family of asuwangs (which makes her a bit afraid of me a teeny little bit too - I suspect, just a dirty little thought mind you).

We talked about sooo many Filipino things, never using French nor English nor any other language. (I don't know more than 4 anyway and I think neither does Elm - my good friend of long ago.)

Then we veered into the currents in the home country. And I learned once more (my first time was in the international media) and with alarm, the great brouhaha that somebody supposedly called nonoy aquino turned the idea of "term extension" into.

My friend says: "It's not true. It's just a PR campaign contracted to many big individual experts-contractors and a few corporate ones."

Oh? I ask, is that really true?  "Yes, she answered. Coz nonoy is already on the way out and his fame is fading fast more than acid-washed jeans."

That's true, I thought, that's been true for the past four years.

"Also the shit about Palparan?" Yeah I heard about that too, I told her. "It's just a blanket to cover the millions, gazillions of issues plaguing the nonoy administration back in the country. Crimes, Train accidents, disasters, sex scandals in the justice department, graft and corruption in Manila's counterpart of the White House or the The Palais de l'Élysée, lower government functionaries' involvement in large scale thievery of government money, and all that."

How do you know all these, I asked her.  "I'm a reporter remember? Duh!"

Yeah, that figures. "Jove Palpy," she explains, is the tip of a mysterious iceberg. "He used to be the front of one of the so-called large-scale illegal drugs pipelines from-to the Philippines and abroad - specially China. To hide the activities of the drugs pipeline, the masterminds behind the syndicate-and-government-protection-ring, hired former rebels to kill communist young workers as a diversion.

The media publicity became so much that no one turned their attention to the large scale smuggling of drugs in Mindoro, in the South, even in Manila itself. And that shit doubled, tripled, quadrupled in the last three to four years alone.

It was getting too very dark, so late and too fast, so I suddenly told my friend stop. Stop talking, let's have another coffee talk someday when I'll have my beauty rest again. (I had the urge to do my fairy rounds tonight, but I needed to go home first.)

After me and Elm parted ways, in just a jiffy I was in the air. It was already really deep into the evening or night - not that I did not approve.

I followed Elms scent but it led me to a great imposing building near the central complex that included The Palais de l'Élysée.  Its big neon lit sign said: INTERPOL INTELLIGENCE DIVISION.

Fuck shoes, my friend is a stinking cop but I enjoyed her tall tales anyway. And I continued my fairy rounds... thinking of term extension of that abnormal dude who never deserved a first term at all, a malnourished old man called Pinalpagan, and laughing all the way...

As far as I can remember, this army general has never looked brave
or sinister and cruel to me. Maybe Elm was right after all. He could
just be a scapegoat and in fact, I think by the looks of him, he is an old
emaciated neglected senior citizen. He must have children and grand
children to be sure but they can't even touch him with a 10-foot pole
because of the damned stupid stigma. Why is the Filipino population
always so easy to fool?

Monday, August 11, 2014

The Screeching Scratching Irritants of Asuwangs

Everytime we wacwacs hear the sound of scratching specially at night, we fear for our lives dearly.  It is true, it is true we want to bite the hand and the neck and chest and tummy of the one making the scratch, scratch, screech, screech because it is not only irritating. We wacwacs (waqzys for short - hrmmph! they changed the name women to womyn, so why can't wacwac change our moniquer too?) hate it because we become extremely paranoid that some idiot out there is out to gut us with their butcher's knife.

I am particularly allergic to butcher's knives. It holds a power that is so, so menacing to me, not only in my waking nights (I'd like to sleep mostly during the day, if I can) but even in my dreams. How many times did I dream of that ugly thing slicing through my beautiful fashion model's fingers, my dearie tongue that I use to caress babies in the wombs to sleep until the forever after, my splendidly sculpted Venus' bod (that I spend too many hours doing asanas as in yoga you dumb dumb, aerobic exercise, dancing to sweat out the baby and not so young fats I indulged in) or any other part of my wonderful temple that I adore so much including my hair (don't touch it you sleazy slime ball!).

The screech, scratch sounds should be eliminated in this Universe. It cannot be that I am hearing so much of it often these days! On August 26, 2014, as stated in the short message I got in my mobile, they are going to make much awful screeching scratching little and big disturbing sounds in what they call the NOISE BARRAGE!  Oh my my!!! Stop!!!

A few nights ago, before receiving that damned message, I was in my flying mood so I did my fairy rounds and vagabonded in the air space once more. Boom! I was on top of a big house near the huge Pasig River (its so humongous if you see it from the air) and I could clearly hear the sound of fighting.


the baby faced manboy under siege




Female voice: GAGU!!! EWAN NAMIN KUNG SAAN KA PINULOT NI MOMMY!!! (Softly pleading tone) Mom, sorry, sumalangit ka na ngayon na haaaa!!!


That's what I heard. Then a few meters away this:

Soft Male voice: Sir Man Boy is mad.

Soft Female voice: Mga Tiger ma'ams ay mad din.

Soft Male voice: May rally na naman kasi.

Soft Female voice: Aw?

Soft Male voice: Oo at ang mga HAYUP ay gagawa pa ng NOISE BARRAGE daw sa 26.

(They knew what I didn't know, yet)

Soft Female voice: Wow galing ooops! Nakupo! May nakikinig ba?
Soft Male voice: Wala, wag ka ganyan, baka marinig ka ng mga boss natin na baliw.
Soft Female voice: At ubod ng magnanakaw. Ano kaya?

Soft Male voice: Anong ano?

Soft Female voice: Eh takot sa ingay yan sila Sir at mga ma'ams at mga asawa.

Soft Male voice: O eh ano ngayon.

Soft Female voice: Magpaputok tayo doon sa Otis?

Soft Male voice: Sira ulo ka ba?

Soft Female voice: Para di nila marinig NOISE BARRAGE.

Soft Male voice: Gago!

Soft Female voice: At least pag may tunog ng bumabaril mahimbing tulog nila, eh di walang istorbo.

Oh my G! What kind of people are these?
I've lost my appetite tonight. What the heck was that all about? What kasakiman? Why are they more afraid of screeching, scratching than asuwangs? Oy, I always thought only wacwacs can be paranoid. But sadly, I'm in really very bad company here!!! Yiiikes!!!

Tonight is so depressing frustrating, I'm sick to my inner tummy. No mamam too.

I guess it's hard to be asuwang, ooops waqzy baby... specially if you're facing stiff competition from weird frenzied blood suckers!!! till next time, tata!

my competition. how bastos look.

Friday, October 11, 2013

In the dead of night

Sir Butcy Buut, photo from
Sir Frank, looking respectably toady in black graduation gown - photo from
Sir Prezyzezzy Noy - photo from
he appears to be secretly exchanging inspirational, spiritual quotes with the lady behind

While doing my little fairy rounds (excuse me, my new sobriquet for my nocturnal wacwac flights is this one now), I decided to drop by the detention cell of Ms. Janet alias Jenny, alias Jen, Jing Napoles.

It appeared that she was asleep, as she was mildly snoring. I let out my snaky little particle (I won't admit that it's my implement for tasting, uhmm you know, its embarrassing) and felt her neck. She shuddered a little and looked like she felt tickled.

Next my particle touched her neck part to feel for a pulse, well, the beat was slow, so she's in some sort of deep sleep. Then I started because she started singing. She sang and sang until I was afraid it will be very much in the wee hours and morning will catch me in my state. Now that is unacceptable so I fled from the scene of the crime.

I vividly remember her song, it was Philippine National Anthem-like, a fairly marchy song, I'm sure of it. Of course, she didn't begin with Bayang Magiliw like in grade school but she kept repeating the names Sir Franklin Dri--, Sir Butchy Butchy Aba--, Ma'am AbbaAbby Valt--, and Sir Prezy Zezzyzzy No--, kahit anong mangyari nasa akin side kayo...

Then she goes, di ba Sir Franky binigyan kita ng maraming pera? O ikaw Sir Butchy Buut, I gave you din di ba? Ikaw Sir Prezy Zezzy, magkano binigay ko? O, ipapatawag niyo pa ba ako? Sa manlulupig di ka pasisiil di ba?

Magunaw man ang mundo, mangamoy man ang buong langit, wala naman nabokya sa inyo, I don't need to say anything di ba? Or mag read ng statement or tula sa shetnado? Kung hindi aba, ba, ba, talaga kayo ang will be blamed in the end, nakulong pa kayo with me here sa jail.

Oy kung wala kami nina Zaldy C-- na taga Bikol, sila --- iola (unintelligible), saan naman kayo pupulutin? Paano niyo la la lay lay lalaruin ang mga pera ng gobierno? Hala! Laruin niyo ang dibdib kong buhay!

And the song got a little sexy for my taste so I noticed it was getting time to go home like. That was when I made my surreptitious exit passing by the guards dozing off like babies, munching on imagined crispy fried pork rinds (chicharon dumb dumb). What does she mean she's going to get Sir Frank, Sir Butchy Buut, and Sir Prezy Zezzy next to her in jail? That was quite a dilemma for me, but then you will know, intelligent people you are.

I'm just a wacwac anyway, get guessing, I'm off to my hearty breakfast of raw male baby liver and some female baby pancreas - better than stem cell therapy, mind you. Then my fashion beauty sleep. That coz I'm still flying to the family mansions of Sir Frank, Sir Butchy Buut and the house of bachelor Sir Prezyzezzy all in one flight next time. Hohummm..... See ya guys! Watch out for my beautiful suave lengua viscosa larga. Google that, dumb dumb.

Taste this dinuguan pork:

P27 Billion PDAF in 2014 budget

Thursday, September 12, 2013

So close

I feel so very close to this person, this creature. I saw her so many times whenever I fly over my own fashion digs here and abroad. So close I could really eat her.

If the both of these two are so close (look at him and her blushing), what would the other one  of the two, say to him?

I'd as soon as hell be happy to let her borrow my line: I'll eat you!

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Flying back to WestMind

It's been a long time since my foreign modeling trips and it's both good and not so good to be back in Mindanao. The good part is I am home once more; back to the places and food and things I sorely missed during the long years of flight out of the country. The bad part is, my home is a wreck. War visits. It's not my cup of tea because I like the finer things in this life, after all its all that we have. To have big trouble trampling all over your house is worrisome.

Everyone is staying at home scared shitless. They closed everything here in my beloved Zamboanga City; no banks, no shops; no schools; no public transport - air, land nor sea. But of course I don't mind since I do a little secret flying on my own.

There are the deceased in some places in WestMind that to me both look not too awful and those that looked very bad. These ones died either fighting for what they believe in or else just got swept by the tide towards the end.

What is the sense of all of this fighting? For nights I flew and flew over Davao, Zamboanga, then took detours to Cotabato, Sulu, Basilan and heard humans whispering: they'll (enemies of the current sitting overlord by the Pasig) bring damnation to that man. Surely they will.

Some of the elders in close huddle tell tales to each other over native spirits (mild alcoholic liquor made from coco), that it didn't pay to be deaf to Maas. Of course many people, including children know that to be the grandfatherly Nur Misuari; he used to be quite devilishly charming as a young man, but now he fits that monicker. I don't know how they coined that name for him, probably its the old Tausug way.

I guess this shedding of blood will not be all of it, that if no sensible intervention swoops into WestMind, certainly there will be generations that will pay for the terrible fiasco. When I passed by a collective of blond haired foreign soldiers, I overheard them saying, all they wanted was to build US bases in Gen San and the MILF to help them achieve that; now the damned Libyan trained Kumander Boy Thunder and his ilk are making serious attacks against innocents. Why not attack soldiers instead? Why hostage the unknowing residents of Santa Barbara and Santa Catalina, etcetera, etcetera? I wanted to get a delicious bite of not one but two, or three of these tasty looking guys right then and there. Very brave, them lot.

In Sulu, after my third fly-over, I noticed a familiar looking elderly guy from Metro Manila parties wearing a general's uniform of the MNLF talking to a young female warrior cleaning her high powered sniper rifle. He said, you know, I said goodbye to my family - except to my better half who went ahead of me - and  to my friends, to all my people in my office, last year in Manila when I was called to do my duty to the Bangsa Moro.

This is where my heart belongs. The struggle, the war, the battle is where my entire being wants to be. And my heart specially beats for you even on the very first night that we met. The female warrior looked up at the old general with fervently admiring eyes and a lust filled face. And she said, I have longed to serve with you even when I was a small girl and now that I am here, I am filled with boundless joy. I could only imagine what the long nights  at the battlefronts would lead them to.

Strange, how troubles bring two people like that together and breed a kind of chemistry as old as Adam and Eve. Perhaps despite that ugly charade of men and women to wage atrocities upon one another, pockets of benign affections can never be totally lost and crushed by evil warmongers.

If I can muster an army of asuwang (ghouls) in my own time, hopefully soon enough, I'd like us to cook and eat with relish all the bullshit merchants of death and devastation that are now ruining my beloved home.