In the dead of night

Sir Butcy Buut, photo from Inquirer.net

Sir Frank, looking respectably toady in black graduation gown - photo from dipolognon.com

Sir Prezyzezzy Noy - photo from 2010presidentiables.wordpress.com

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

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!

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.