Citizens of the Earth, you may now release your bated breath in anticipating my return. You know, sour breath and popping blue veins are sooooo unbecoming. Trust me on that.

I heard so many circulating rumors with regards to my absence - all of which are amusing, but none can be considered as truth. Popular notion running around the headlines was that I went to the States to give birth to Richard Gutierrez's child.

*snort*

Excuse me, livid fans, much as it is true that Richard Gutierrez was hanging out in my place very often before I went into hiatus, you may rest assured that the Richard-Angel tandem is safe from me. You see, Richard is an avid fan of mine and he was negotiating the terms of serving under my dominion. Much as I would love to recruit him since he has the power of looking cute even under 24-hour media surveillance, I have to reject him because he always parade around my company wearing his Mulawin costume. Call me superficial but really, being attach to a costume is so...so... dorky. Very uncool. And besides, who wants to be seen having an overgrown chicken strutting his feathered tushie beside you?

It was also true that I went to the US of A during my hiatus. But just to clarify, I did not give birth to anyone's baby. No, neither did I undergo a top-secret rhynoplasty in there. My nose is perfection in its petite structure, thank you very much. And "pango" is so underrated that when I conquer the world, I will make "flat nose" the totem pole of beauty and "straight nose" an eyesore. Nor did I ever planned having a thigh-liposuction for I am told by a minion that chicken drumstick is trillion times juicier than a celery stick. And yeah, nothing in this world could ever make me go under the knife to sculp cheekbones on my face for I know that these very cheeks will stop me from demanding botox twenty years from now. Of course nothing cou--

Right, right. We are veering away from the topic.

To tell you the truth, I was there to work on my world domination plan. I've been in hibernation, pigging out on Argentina Cornbeef and Bluebay Tuna in between euphoric Jude Law dreams for so long that I feel the need to exercise my swelling butt before I get preserved alive by the outrageously increasing salt content in my body. Of course, my initial plan was to go to J Lo's gym to work out on toning my butt, but then my nincompoop of an assistant was too busy watching Stairway to Heaven while arranging my flight and accomodation. Result? I boarded a cargo plane going to Alaska with penguins for seatmates and a free workout video of the Red Guy with no pants  in lieu of a J Lo Gym treatment. And to add insult to injury, the only meal there was in my igloo accomodation was Canned Salted Tuna. I could've gone to another igloo that serves Grilled Seaweeds but I was told that the penguins already occupied that place. Dang!

I am in Chionophobic* Hell - dressed in hot pink Lycra and armed only a deodorant and foot perfume in my tote bag. How delightful.

Thank goodness for my roommate, he told me the secret Alaskan way of "keeping warm". Jessica Zafra was right, Pinoys are all over the world, we could practically overthrow the other races like cockroaches ruling the roast of a messy kitchen: in this case, Pinoys are a-plenty in Alaska. And Pinoys, having the super powers of txt-ability, are all equipt with the latest MMS-featured cellphones with hyperthreading mini-satellite dish for an accessory and kaleidoscopic backlight. Porn after Porn, they download to their 500 GB memory stick's delight. "Hmmm," I melted while watching the clip of Superman taking of his blue brief, leaving his red Spandex on. Then -

I... I... I... saw Mahal's bathroom scene. Aaaaaaaaaaieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!

It was horrible... like I was watching a transvestite leprechaun on St. Patrick's Day - wet and naked.

Then it dawned on me: that was a message from my forefathers. A wake-up call from my lagging career as a world dominator. With that, I just knew what to do. Dialing my nincompoop secretary's number, I ordered her to contact "The Lefthands" (my Lap-doggish Minions. They worship me like dogs to a bone shrine) hotline and tell them my bidding.

But a nincompoop is a nincompoop, she mistakenly called my brain surgeon and ordered an appointment for my lobotomy.


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Note:: Chionophobic* - fear of snow.

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