Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Some dude broadcasts his virginity

Tacky seat covers double as men's blouses;
and the guy at the back is so appalled he has to close his eyes as he cringes

In the tradition of posts about reality artista search dudes doing really stupid things, enter Fred Payawan. Fred who? Panopio? No! Payawan.

According to a PEP article bluntly titled Fred Payawan Admits He Is Still A Virgin, apparently that Fred person was in DJ Mo Twister's "Forbidden Questions" segment and, you guessed it, he admitted that his pee-pee has remained untouched—by another person/woman/man/animal. And before going smart-ass on me and insisting that the Pinoy Big Brother Teen Edition isn't a reality search (yeah, that's where Freddie's from—just found out now, too), don't tell me all the kids there joined for the sake of "experience."

So, yeah, anyway, he's announced he hasn't been laid his entire life. But I'm guessing people are more baffled about who the fuck this person is.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Gifts for your materialistic GF

Michael Jackson FINALLY had a sex change

In behalf of the female population, I apologize to all the boyfriends in the world who have gold-digging biatches for girlfriends. However, I make no apologies for your stupidity in not knowing the difference between her hand going for your crotch and her hand going for your wallet when you're watching a movie or something.

But I won't tell you to break up with her. Because I don't want this to be an emo post. Instead, here's a practical guide for alternative gifts whenever your money hoe demands for the blingy shit.

No. 1: Expensive lingerie

She says expensive lingerie makes her feel sexy and therefore, when she feels sexy, she'll do you. Hard. Which is odd, because ripping off her So-en panties with your mouth should be more than enough to get her loins burning. Anyway, so she doesn't want Victoria's Secret. She wants the more upscale Agent Provocateur because she can't pronounce it correctly, therefore, it must be classy. But an Agent Provocatuuuyyyr bra costs about US$155. What to do? Get her...

Only US$20, this giant melon-holder is huge enough to knock her unconscious when you flick it at her. Then she'll have amnesia and suddenly forget all that crap about sexy lingerie making her feel randy (not Santiago). Best of all, when you hang it on your clothesline, your male neighbors will absolutely die with envy that you're screwing a chick such huge-ass knockers.

No. 2: Diamond earrings

Because diamonds are supposed to be a girl's best friend. Never mind that they're mined by malnourished Africans and given to corrupt militia groups who use the money to buy more guns and shit. So, in the spirit of fighting poverty, best get...

Unicorn earrings
! Yey! They're only US$5.99 and your shallow girlfriend will absolutely gush at the sight of those horses with dicks on their heads. Because cutesy stuff will always get stupid chicks giddy. Like butterflies! And shit!

No. 3: Louis Vuitton bag

For some reason, an ugly US$965 bag will make her feel she looks nicer when rhinoplasty costs about the same amount. Stupid. But you think she looks awesome even without the bag (and especially without the clothes), right? And you will not pay for no stupid noselift, yes? Then get her this bag instead...

It's so hideous that when she opens it and sees the unicorn earrings inside it, she'll be so shocked at the change from super duper ugly to uber cutesy-cutesy she'd be moved to tears! Hooray!

Thursday, March 22, 2007

American Idol does the Philippines

"He farted, not I!"

This season of American Idol is a snoozefest. Of course there are undeniably talented contestants—not to mention the token rocker, the token sex symbol, the token talented big black singer, and the token sucky singer. (And of course, I'll still watch each and every episode) But the funny thing is, even if some of AI's singers suck, they sing way better than some of our very own reality TV slash singing contest winners. See, here in the Philippines, I absolutely don't get why everyone's trying to sound like Regine Velasquez. Is being an overrated singer like the measure of singing success here? There's a difference between a high-pitched shriek and singing, you know.

But anyway, you know what would be awesome? If the AI judges Randy, Paula, and Simon would drag their asses over here to critique the crap out of our talent contest winners. Oh! And whaddayaknow? They just did!

Terenterenten terenteren tereeeeen (or whatever that sounds like the AI theme song)...

Ryan Seacrest: First up, we have Sheryn Regis singing "Come In Out Of The Rain"!

Randy: Ya know, it was aiiiight. A little pitchy in some spots, it wasn't bad. Just a little pitchy. It was just okay for me, dawg.

Paula: *hic!* First, I have to say that you look beautiful tonight. Your dress, jewelry, makeup, and especially the cosmetic surgery. You look beautiful! *hic!*

Simon: Wendy Moten, the original voice behind the song, is probably wailing wherever she is right now. Remember, this is a singing competition, not a shouting competition. Very karaoke, it was ghastly!

Ryan Seacrest: Next is Rachelle Ann Go, performing "Don't Cry Out Loud."

Randy: Yeah, well, it was an okay performance. Watch out for your vibrato when you go, "Don't cry out loud. Just keep it insayiyiyiyide," ya know? You're not Axl Rose. For me dawg, it didn't really blow me away. It was just, ya know, aiiiight.

Paula: Wow, that dress! You look so beautiful. You're radiant. You really shine on stage. You look like a star. Your rhinoplasty is terrific. *hic!*

Simon: I don't mean to be rude, but it was very cabaret, too karaoke for me, very unoriginal, like a performer in some Filipino singing contest. Uhm, yeah.

Ryan Seacrest: Now here's Jonalyn Viray with "Get Here."

Randy: There were a couple of pitch problems here and there. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't just working for me. It was just aiiight, dawg.

Paula: You look amazing tonight. That dress looks incredible on you. You're a beautiful person in and out.

Simon: It was just okay. You sing okay, you hit the notes, but you're completely forgettable. What's your name again? Jonalyn? Maybe if you spell it with an H, people would remember you.

Ryan Seacrest: Let's welcome Frenchie Dy with "Raindrops Will Fall."

Randy: Props to our background singers! Listen, Frenchie, ya know, it was an okay performance. A little pitchy in some spots, ya know, you don't have to oversing some parts. It wasn't that good for me. It was aiiight.

Paula: [Cries] Whatever these guys say, you look absolutely stunning. You're beautiful! *hic!*

Simon: The dress, the song, they make you look older. Let's be honest here, it just wasn't that good and I think you'll be in trouble tomorrow. And truly, raindrops will fall as the heavens will cry their bloody eyes out after that awful performance.

Ryan Seacrest: And last but not the least, Erik Santos with "This Is The Moment."

Randy: It was good, a little pitchy in some spots, but it was aiiight.

Paula: Teehee! You're cute! *hic!*

Simon: You will sell more albums than any Idol contestant in the face of the planet—if you promise to include naked pictures of yourself and your crushes Sam Milby and Piolo Pascual doing yoga or something in your album cover.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Echo tries to make music

This is old news, but I just want to remind everyone that Jericho Rosales is in a band. With an album. I'd like to say that Jeans, Echo's (yeah, we're close) band, follows in the pansy footsteps of fellow pogi band Hale, but every time I see Echo's three bandmates and feel no urge whatsoever to throw them against the wall and rip their clothes off (and the thought makes me want to hurl instead), hell no, they're no pogi rock band. In fact, it seems that Eat Bulaga Mr. Pogi himself Echo deliberately picked out three nasty looking dudes to be in his band because humping the life out of Heart Evangelista every freaking day just isn't enough to appease the little insecure part of him (the one that used to be a simple joe who didn't speak in English during interviews, unlike now who's all English-spokening and an artiste at that).

What the hell was EMI Philippines thinking signing up these clowns into a stable of artists that include Bamboo, Sugarfree, The Bloomfields, Urbandub, Hale... er, okay.

Anyway, apparently Mr. Pogi simpleton turned Inglisero-artsy fartsy homeboy wrote all the songs in the album. Maybe trying so fucking hard to comprehend his moneyed girlfriend's English made him believe that he's some rich kid, too, or worse, Shakespeare. And one of the songs he wrote was made into a duet with the girlfriend. Awww. Not. Check out the lyrics:

(Jericho Rosales)

Haaaaaaaa, haaaayayayayy...
Haaaaaaaa, haaaayayayayy...
And I can’t believe I found you
And I can’t believe I’m with you
You’re so beautiful, so beautiful
You’re so beautiful

And I found the right words to say
And I like to feel this way
It’s so beautiful, so beautiful
It’s so beautiful

And I... Hay...
And I... Hay...
I... Hay...
I... Hay...
I... Hay..



And I found you
And I love you
And I surrender
I surrender
I love you...
I love you...
I love you...

What the flying fuck is that? He types the word "beautiful" and the phrase "I love you" and copies and pastes it onto practically every line and that's supposed to make him an English-speaking artist-writer-musician? And he thinks breathing out loudly through his mouth is a freaking word that he just has to include it in the lyrics, like over and over again? Excuse me, but if that makes him an English-speaking artist-writer-musician, then I must be a better English-speaking artist-writer-musician!

(Miss Diss)

Wooooo, woohoooo...
Wooooo, woohoooo...
I knew I'd find youuuu woooooh
I knew this day would come, yeeeeaaaah
You’re so ugly, so effin' ugly
You’re so effin' ugly
Fugly in short

And I found the right words to say
Because I'm witty this way
It’s so beautiful, so beautiful
It’s so beautiful
But I'm not talking about you
Because you're fugly

And I... Hay...
And I... Hay...
I... Hay...
I... Hay...
I... Hay...
I meant


I meant

And I found you
Because fugliness stands out from the crowd
And I love you
Because you make me look beautiful beside you
And I surrender
I surrender
My backpack at the baggage counter
Because they'll think I'll steal groceries
From the supermarket at Megamall
Like a box of Jar matches, Dragon Katol, and all items SM Bonus
I hate you...
I hate you...


Thursday, March 08, 2007

Smell this Vulva

The blonde chick from some obscure European country
wearing her G-string around her legs

A few years ago, a sample of Vulva came in the office mail. We weren't sure if it was a sincere gift to all our virgin officemates who have never seen/touched/smelled a vagina in their entire lives. But anyway, so there it was, and we had no idea what it was until we read the enclosed leaflet, which said:

"Vulva Original beguiles the senses with the scent of a real vagina, thus opening up completely new vistas for enhancing your sex life. Vulva Original lets you enjoy the scent of a woman anytime you want. It's easy to use: shake the Vulva vial well, and the fluid is also transformed to optically resemble the object of every man's desire. Then apply it to the back of your hand and sniff. Your libido will take care of the rest all by itself."

So, yeah, you're supposed to get a hard-on from smelling it. Now before you go scrambling for your credit cards, let me warn you that the scent, nay, the stench of Vulva is based on a European woman's coochie. Think, twice-a-week baths at best, hairy armpits, scary accents. And having had the dubious honor of actually smelling the product, I tell you, a non-prositute Filipina's love canal smells a lot better than Vulva aka a European chick's peepee.

The worst thing about Vulva is how the odor clings to you like a leech in a blood bank. Co-workers who have merely touched the vial couldn't get rid of the smell even after washing their hands with soap and water. They smelled like pussies the whole day. European pussies. Unfortunately, this blog isn't scratch-and-sniff so here's the closest thing to experiencing Vulva for yourself—make your own Vulva! And I have employed the services of this trusty dude for the project:

Angus MacGyver was too shy to show his pink nail polish

1 pair of running shoes
7 sacks of chili
1 angry middle-aged Arab man
1 really bad case of global warming
1 bottle of Gatorade
1 bottle of ammonia

The moment you see the Arab man yawning, shove the sacks of chili down his throat. Wait for the chili to digest as you wear the running shoes. Then stir a little conflict by calling the Arab man "Iraqi" or "Saddam." Make him run after you under the heat of the sun. When both of you are exhausted from all the running, allow him to drop to the ground as you try to gain back a little extra energy by drinking your Gatorade. When the Arab man falls asleep, lift his arm and get a good, long whiff of his wet armpits. Sniff the ammonia ASAP.

That's what Vulva is like. Aren't you glad you're Filipino?

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Trump stomps on beauty queen's dreams

This is for entertainment purposes only and doesn’t reflect actual events of people known to author other than fictitious aspects of her silly brilliant mind. Unless you really believe that I happened to overhear someone's conversation with Le Trump. In Meheeko. Anyway, any similarities are purely coincidental and unintentional.

Somewhere in Mexico a few days before the Miss Universe 2007 pageant...

Brown-raced beauty queen (BBQ): Mr. Trump! Mr. Trump! How could this be? Why didn't I pass the preliminary round? This is unconstitutional! I graduated with honors in college! I am eloquent! I will become a future liar! Er, lawyer!

Donald Trump (BHD—Bad Hair Day): I am the god of the Miss Universe Organization. I have a wife with lovely norks.

BBQ: But Mr. Trump! I object! That has no connection whatsoever with my concern!

BHD: It's got everything to do with your petty concern. See, according to Wikipedia, the Miss Universe pageant was established in 1952—by a swimsuit company. Of course, at that time it sucked because I wasn't the god of the Miss Universe Organization back then. But anyway, yes, a swimsuit company.

BBQ: But I plead not guilty to your bizarre testimony!

BHD: I'm not done, low-pitched whiny bitch. Before I was rudely interrupted—which in my world, is enough reason for me to fire your skinny ass—as I said it was founded by a swimsuit maker. Thus, the preliminary round consists of the swimsuit competition.

BBQ: And so?

BHD: You're fired! I mean, you have no tits.

BBQ: Your reasoning is non sequitur! So what if I don't have huge gazongas? I am intelligent!

BHD: This is a beauty pageant. Read my Trump lips: bee-yoo-tee. You're a pretty girl, yes, but so is that burrito-eating hooker over there.

BBQ: Where?

BHD: There.

BBQ: Okay.

BHD: Okay.

BBQ: And?

BHD: And she's not a Miss Universe contestant. Even if she has big boobies.

BBQ: But that's exactly my argument! The distinguished panel of judges such as the "Bad Boy of Philippine Cinema" and some sexy actor grown men love wanking to can see how awesome I am! And I am a frickin' law student from our country's premier university. That should count for something.

BHD: I don't give a flying fuck if you're a law student from your third-world premier university. You're as flat as your sash. You can't properly fill a swimsuit unless you stuff it with torn pages from your law books. Or pieces of uncooked chicken thighs.

BBQ: How about the preliminary one-on-one interview, then? I delivered our valedictory speech, you know! Didn't I do well what with my intellectual reasoning and all?

BHD: Leave the declamation shtick to the Little Miss Philippines talent portion. You have no jugs.

BBQ: But cross examine me if you will, and you'll see that I'm the total package apt for the Miss Universe title!

BHD: The total package minus the funbags.

BBQ: You're unfair! This can't be! I'm an achiever! I will not sleep at night knowing I didn't ace something! I do not settle for anything less than excellent because I am on a plane beyond the mundane! Mediocrity is the pits! "Okay" is never all right! I am an outstanding member of society and I cannot settle for being a fucking Miss Universe reject! Mr. Trump! May I just remind you, I am an honors graduate! A law student! A Promil child, if you must!

BHD: Well, now that you've mentioned it, despite your non-existent rack, I think you'd do well...

BBQ: See? I told you! I'm that brainy I know everything!

BHD: The Apprentice.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Kinky keyboard

Those crazy Japs are at it again! This time, though, I'm not too sure if this should be considered more of a sex toy rather than a gadget. Whatever. Either way, say hello to the nifty-kinky Angel Kitty french maid USB keyboard. The costume comes with a built-in silicon keyboard for your girlfriend to wear and for you to actually use with your Windows computer. And here's how it's going to look like on your computer table:

Are you thinking what I'm thinking? I'm won't get anything done with your girlfriend sprawled all over your work desk that way. You can't possibly see the monitor clearly with the freaking keyboard perpendicular to it. The only way you can accomplish anything is by making sure she lays herself on the table in such a way that the keyboard is parallel to the computer screen—which is with one leg propped up on each of your shoulders.

And with the gates of heaven wide open in front of you, why, surely you'd be driven to work harder on those mind-numbing graphs and other dreary paperwork! Okay, maybe not.