A big box of emo crayons

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Diyahe

In life, there's a shitload of things to be embarrassed about. Your weight. That single red zit people's eyes stray towards (but they try so fucking hard to look everywhere but there). Or accidentally saying "speel-pruf" instead of "spill-proof" out loud in front of a posse of coño Embassy regulars. But for this company fittingly named Jiahe, you should be self-conscious about your nose.

Fake tweezers: a pain in the ass to use

So they came up with the Jiahe Nose Up. According to the packaging, you ought to sell yourself to a bunch of stinky hairy old men to earn enough money to buy the product because "In order to make your nose clearer, more beautiful and full of happiness, this product is necessary for your nose!" Good heavens! I want my nose to be full of happiness! And so should you!

Queso de bola = bribe

According to this article on posted Yahoo, "It may be the season to hand out presents but Philippines government workers have been ordered not to accept Christmas gifts in order to avoid any appearance of bribery."


Yeah, like government officials will once and for all stop parading their huge-ass SUVs on jampacked pothole-strewn highways—and worse, use policemen and their earwax-liquefying sirens to weasel their way out of traffic jams. Or people from the LTO's St. Clare's drug testing center will cease from offering an "easier way" to score your driver's license as you pee your warm pee on that little plastic cup. Or quite simply, that corruption in the Philippines will finally die a quick painless death if that father of four who works at the city hall doesn't receive the fucking queso de bola, ham, or even that fugly customary white mug he'll only rewrap to give to his officemate next year (by that time, it'll be a customary cream mug). Well, all I can really say is...

Say what?

According to this article, Say Alonzo vehemently defends diss-magnet Sam Milby against claims that the collar-popping dude is gay. According to the story, Say told reporters: "I know 100 percent he's not gay!" She added: "Every time that they mention in the papers... Siyempre, nahe-hurt ako kasi kilala ko ‘yung tao and I know that he's not gay."


Say what? Moreover, Say who? Look, if some random chick went around telling people that they know for a fact that someone's gay or in this case, not gay, then I, some random chick with far superior writing skills, can go around telling the whole world that killing dolphins will earn you good karma (or for non-karma believers, a place in heaven)—and that broadsheets and websites should quote me because I'm a far credible source with better grammar and no loose screws in my head brought about by exposure to reality TV.


In any case, don't worry, Say (whoever the hell you are). We believe you. Sam Milby is not gay...


...He just takes pleasure in being poked from behind.

Raised collars

Manly, just manly.

I really don't understand why people—especially Filipino men—"tweak" their collars upward. I mean, hello? Is it that fucking cold here in tropical Philippines? If it is, can't you afford a freaking turtleneck shirt instead?


I dunno, maybe in the case of this guy right here, though, maybe he's just trying to hide a hickey—by Piolo or Uma, who knows?

Thank you, Britney

Dear Britney, despite all the upskirt brouhaha, there are many reasons to thank you. First, for creating classics such as "Hit Me Baby One More Time" and "Oops! I Did It Again." Second, for inspiring teenagers to achieve their dreams by dressing like hookers and dancing wildly in vain attempts of making their flat chests bounce like porn stars—only to give pedophiles reason to be thankful they're fucking alive. Third, for teaching us that despite our erroneous ways, we can always set things right as easily as filing for divorce a day after getting married. Fourth, for giving all the gold-digging men in the world hope that despite equal rights and education for women, they can still fool women into believing that gambling their ladies' hard-earned money and buying sports cars are acts inspired by true love. And fifth...

StarStruck rejects: in denial

...thank you, thank you, thank you for partying that fateful night with Paris Hilton from the bottom of the hearts of these men of Match.com who have never ever seen a woman's vagina in their entire lives.

Daniel Bedingfield versus James Blunt

It’s cheese versus cheese here in diss-anything.blogspot.com as mush master Daniel Bedingfield goes mano a mano with mopey meister James Blunt. Things are going to get ugly, real ugly here—tossing starry-eyed, puppy-love prose to each other, a brutal exchange of tear-jerking phrases that would make even Joe D’ Mango want to throw himself off a cliff, and an onslaught of strikes at Shift+F7 on the word “love.”

Miss Diss: Thank you for agreeing to this fund-raising face-off all for the benefit of the RAPE ME (RAise my PathEtic blog’s MEasly number of clicks) Foundation. So, what’s up guys? How’s life?

James: My life is brilliant.

Daniel: Why does my soul feel glad today?

Miss Diss: Uh, right. What do you think of each other?

James: My love is pure. I saw an angel, of that I’m sure.

Miss Diss: Er, that wasn’t my question.

Daniel: If you’re not the one then why does my hand fit yours this way?

Miss Diss: Are you referring to me?

Daniel: If you are not mine then why does your heart return my call?

James: She smiled at me on the subway. She was with another man.

Miss Diss: Are you guys like talking about the same chick? Your girlfriend Petra Nemcova, James?

James: I won't lose no sleep on that, 'cause I've got a plan.

Daniel: I'll never know what the future brings. But I know you're here with me now. We’ll make it through.

Miss Diss: What the? Hey, are you talking about each other? Holy fuck!

James: You're beautiful, it's true.

Daniel: And I hope you are the one I share my life with.

Miss Diss: Gross!

James: I saw your face in a crowded place, and I don't know what to do. 'Cause I'll never be with you.

Miss Diss: Don’t be so glum, there’s nothing KY Jelly or a stick of butter can’t remedy.

Daniel: I don’t want to run away but I can’t take it, I don’t understand.

Miss Diss: ‘Cause you’re fucking gay, that’s why! Hey James, can’t you just go for Daniel’s hot sister, Natasha?

James: Yes, she caught my eye, as we walked on by.

Miss Diss: There you go! Then why do you keep on stealing glances at Daniel’s crotch?

James: She could see from my face that I was fucking high, and I don't think that I'll see her again,

Miss Diss: Uhm, okay. Ewww! Daniel! Were you just nibbling James’ ear?

Daniel: If I’m not made for you then why does my heart tell me that I am?

James: But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

Daniel: ‘Cause I love you, whether it’s wrong or right. And though I can’t be with you tonight, you know my heart is by your side.

James: But it's time to face the truth. I will never be with you.

Miss Diss: Hey, you can always go to Canada.

Fucking douchebags ruined my concept!

MaLing

In other words, Chinese spam.


If you've read my email exchange with Mr. James Brown, you shouldn't be surprised that I, yet again, am bitching about spam. Stupid fucking spam. And yesterday—surprise, surprise—guess what was in my inbox?

Click here for the bigger file

I was so fascinated with the Chinese characters and was simply touched that a stranger would go all Hallmark-y and "You've Got Mail" with me that I just had to reply...

Here for the full version

I'm a bitch. So shoot me. But the weirdness doesn't end there. This afternoon, I received hate mail!

The beginnings of a catfight here!

Hmmmm? I only posted mah Cha-nees spam rat now, so I'll just be a presumptious twat (and all other rude synonyms for the "c" word she used) and say that my hater is an angst-ridden emo-wannabe hater by day, full-blown Chinese spammer by night! Two fulltime vocations! A true career woman! A bona fide lady of the new millennium! Cosmo girl to the core! You go to hell, girl!


Hot damn, of course I was going to reply!

The closest thing to mud wrestling here!

I'm praying for a reply and again, promise to update you guys on this online catfight of sorts.

For your boss

When your boss peers at you from that chair that's obviously too big from him (because he enjoys the feeling of being in that damn oversized chair even if he looks like a balding dwarf in it; the same way that dirty old men in flashy sports cars assume that fast, colorful, and noisy machines would fool people into believing their schlongs are any bigger than a tube of Chapstick), don't you notice that he wears this expression that's a combination of skepticism, sheer loathing, and a painful look of holding back from passing gas? Well, chances are, 1) he indeed doesn't trust you; 2) he hates you to death; and 3) he's fucking keeping himself from farting in front of you.


If you're lucky, though, it's possible he doesn't abhor you (on the flipside, though, who knows if he has a crush on you?). It's just that he's so dying to break wind (that suspiciously smells like rotten eggs) but couldn't do it in front of his good ol' employee. If so, pity your boss and give him the best Christmas gift you could ever give him:




"You no longer have to be embarrassed by the untimely passing of intestinal gas among your friends or family. GasBGon has been designed and tested to absorb the odor and sound of flatulence. Malodorous gas is a naturally occurring event, obviously affecting some people more than others. Yet, clinical studies show that the average person produces one to three pints of gas and passes gas 14 times a day... Clean the air, not the room." Ahluvit!