My life isn’t any different from yours.

I wake up in the morning, yawn in front of the mirror, do my daily business, go to work, and then wish to dream unperturbed dreams. Well, let’s not drag my tightrope balance for existence when it comes to eating home-cooked meals (RE Burnt breakfast), for I already solved that by eating out.

So, why read me? Not that I’m complaining… it’s nice enough to be able to know people are interested to know how you work. But what of you?

I have been self-absorbed in writing, but then, why shouldn’t I be? After all, this is my domain and you’re just peeping in… and in some point in time, in peeping in my journal, you have been self-absorbed yourself. Why? You’re asking me why? Simple. There is a lot of bone to find amusement in this page, but no bone at all to sympathize. Empathize, sure. But sympathize? No. I do not need it. Nor do you.

But you have stepped into my shoes for a moment there… as I would love to step out mine and try out a size 7 Prada (- a change from the normal size 6 department store step-ins. )

So here it is, my high-heeled whip-ass Xena-the-warrior-princess dominatrix boots. Do me a favor and try it out. Park it with my matching leather lasso to accessorize – that is, if you want to.

Meanwhile, I’m going to soak my poor aching feet and just plot world dominion in my bunny slippers.

Message from the Saner Character: Oh don't blame me if I spouted something out of tangent again... for some odd reason, I can't seem to sound normal at all... but then, maybe the dominatrix image IS my norm... Wow. I guess I overdid acting out the part so much it has cannibalized my life. Kewl.

PS: Hold your noses and try not to hyperventilate. I just realized that there are loads of grammar error here... but then, I'm too lazy to preen this entry out. Bear with it.

Mars Vs. Venus (...and other supporting documents why God still needed to make Eve after Adam's creation)

My orgmate forwarded a humor piece over the PP e-groups by mistake. PP's (Pinoypoets) circulation of mails usually goes around sharing/posting/criticising poems... and this forwarded email is not really for PP type. But then, I'm glad I saw this one... it certainly convinced me of my initial views with regards to existence:

Men are such a simpleton, they bore God five seconds of their existence, that God made another being to livened up things. Yep... We, people of Venus, are perfection that those enlightened male species aspires to be like us... (Translation: do i need to spell it out for you?)

Lemme post here the e-mail's content:

****

At last a guy has taken the time to write this all down Finally, the guys' side of the story. We always hear "the rules" from the female side. Now here are the rules from the male side. These are our rules!

Please note... these are all numbered "1" ON PURPOSE!

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us
complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Sunday sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

1. Crying is blackmail.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not
work! Just say it!

1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

1. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.

1. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a
fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...Really.

1. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as baseball, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

1. I am in shape. Round is a shape.

1. Thank you for reading this. Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight; but did you know men really don't mind that? It's like camping.

***

Now, this whinings of a man is really amusing. It only indicates there simplistic nature.
And goodness, I just can't resist commenting. See the girl's POV.

Guy
1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

Girl
"Guys' nostrils must be immune to the stench of "human waste" that it's ok to them that the odor would escape the toilet."

Guy
1. Sunday sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

Girl
* PMS. No arguements... leave us be.

Guy
1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

Girl
* Shopping IS a sport.
1)Shopping is like city's version of treasure-hunting. ;)
2)You use smarts for haggling or discount computations.
3)You improved your stamina from going to boutique-to-boutique, shop-to-shop, mall-to-mall.
4) Testing one's flexibility: Buying a complete party outfit (clothes, shoes & accessories) for only P500.
5)There is competition: imagine the scenario -> "midnight madness sale"
6)Building power and muscle strength from carrying shopping bags and from long distance walking (connected to .2)
7)Strategy planning: finding shorter routes from various shopping places.
8)Sports promotes camaraderie and teamwork. Shopping promotes sharing and bonding.

...and i could go on and on and on and on... but i think you get the idea... if not, boy oh boy... how thick men can be? *grimace*

Guy
1. Crying is blackmail.

Girl
* Only is when you fall for a faker... And if you fall for a faker's cry, who now is the weaker sex?

Guy
1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

Girl
*Wooookei... Men are such simple creatures. Call it charity, but we are actually helping you guys, to help saved those brain cells dying from non-activity. No wonder guys are prone to Alzheimers more than women.

Guy
1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

Girl
IF they keep that up, sooner, their vocabulary would consist only of *grunts* ... and then, there goes the start of devolving.

Guy
1. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.

Girl
Oh but we do when we have the body for it (if not, then dieting calls in handy)... we'd even wear it everyday if possible... who doesn't want to be admired *wink wink* Meanwhile, please refrain from scratching your thingie in public...

Guy
1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

Girl
Then how come you guys get irritated when we always ask if you love us? You can't blame us from checking if the "i-l-u's" have expiration dates too, you know.

Guy
1. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

Girl<
Fine... oh by the way, unless you're planning hair transplant, staring at it mournfully over the mirror won't help it grow.


Guy
1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

Girl
"tricky, aren't yah?"

Guy
1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

Girl
*sigh* Yeye... we forgive your colorblindness.... poor guys... so many birth defects, and they call us, women, the weaker sex... tsk tsk...

Guy
1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

Girl
Afraid to bust a fuse when we require you to use your brain?

Guy
1. You have enough clothes.
1. You have too many shoes.

Girls
1. Clothes and shoes are our Shopping sport trophies. And if you are going to complain about them, I'll ask you to clean the armory (where you keep your collection of guns), launder your jerseys and sweatbands, and yes, I'll give out to charity your golf clubs. Better yet, I'll ask an Internet marketing San Diego expert to better advice me on how to liquidate your junk.

Guy
1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...Really.

Girl
"wow... a permission to wear my 1900's ballgown... or my birthday suit. thanks"

Guy
1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.

Girl
Uhmm... maybe you should rethink your hero, señor. Christopher columbus just "stumbled" upon America, while he's busy getting lost finding Asia.

Guy
1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

Girl
Even when the house is burning?


And oh, guys, while you are "enjoying the wilderness" by your "little camping" (at your backyard), I did take notice of your numbering ("Please note... these are all numbered "1" ON PURPOSE!" )... and yes, I do know what it means... it means you don't know what comes next the number "1".

***
Message of the Saner Character: Pertaining to the "crying is blackmail" quote.

"My grandmother said, "there are two things why women cry: First, when their life is upset; and second, when they are about to upset yours." -> Viola Bacia Tutti. (More on this movie when I get the time to make a review of it).

Hmmm... I'm not really sure what I would put in here. It's been a long time since I've last visited this page, much less, update this. Just for the sake of updating this, I'll just write whatever will come into my brain. Yup, another one of those "blank pages exercise" that works so well on some people, but apparently, on moi? everything will just sound like I'm a ranting lunatic. Oh, I forgot, I'm a ranting lunatic.

Let's see... we need a topic here... hmmm... Oh I know! The weather! Yeah, that's one topic that you should go for when you are in dire need of one. Of course, using that topic is soooo lacking of imagination that it's plain obvious that it just there for the purpose of filling in some gaps. Hell, just like what I'm doing right now. I'm filling this space with whatever shit I can come up with just so I have an "updated blog".

Reminds me of those time that I have Einsteinian earth-shattering questions (that would rival the mindnumbing puzzle of "Why does the chicken cross the street?") and I don't have a pen and paper to write it all down. Tsk tsk... There goes my Nobel prize down the drain.

But then, who needs Nobel prize when I, in my unadorn-of-any-laurels being, have big enough reputation to last me a lifetime. Ain't that the life?

Rep #1: hoity-toity
Plea: Guilty. C'mon, I'm a dominatrix. How can you be a dominatrix when you're pathetically nice?

Rep #2: snob
Plea: Guilty. I aspire for world domination. And my aspiration is endangered just by the mere fact that I live in the Philippines, the Home of Incurrable Nosy People and the Land of the most Advance GossipVines ever manifested on Earth (by "advance" I meant, one with the fastest transmition). No offense meant, but then, you have to admit that in PI, strangers will not hesitate to make conversation with you. When some commontion is happening, people make "usi"*. And admit it, a single woman dating herself (i,e. enjoying her coffee in a cafe all by herself, and she's not waiting for anybody else) is weird on some people's notion. (Ok... let's not go here... I'd best keep my vehemence here and stick to my reps... boy oh boy, I have more to add about the "Usi-ness" of Pinoys)... anyweyz, before I go and get diverted into another topic, HEre's my main gist: I can't make Usi-people found out about my plans and aspirations. You know Fate... Once she gets a wift of what someone is about, she'll do her best to play her tricks into it.

Rep#3: Rich
Plea: Not guilty. I'm dirt poor. I just have ukay-clothes that looks like "THE BOMB". And oh, some people mistook me as conyo because I like to use the English language a lot. Conyo is sometimes connected to being rich. Heck. I'm not trying to pass off as rich... I'm trying to pass off as someone who is reaping the good education my parents have given me.

Rep#4: Fashionista
Plea: Fashionista is just a coined term for "someone who dares to wear weird clothes"

Rep#5: Nerd
Plea: Guilty and I'm proud of it. My first day of dominating the world, I'd make dimwits READ. Yeah, it's so cruel of me to hand out punishments on my first day of rule... but... no buts.

Rep#6 Loony
Plea Heller? Need I explain this?

Whew. I ran out of topic.... So... How's the weather in your place?

Message from the Saner Character: Saner me? Sane people are people who are actually insane. Insane people who admits they're insane are actually sane. Kaya ako? Ewan ko *wink wink*

*Usi* -> Short for Usisero/Usisera which means "nosy".

"Every man of arts, science, and philosophy has a childish heart
that looks at the world as if they've only seen it for the first
time. Sure, everyone does wonder the whys, wherefores and the
endless possibilities of existence, but to never cease wondering
and to have fun discovering so, will separate the bore from the
child at heart."

***
Problem Solving 101: What it is like to feel filthy both physically and physiologically simultaneously?

And your answer is…? Well, THAT would work BUT I was about to suggest something pretty effortless compared to catching pigs in a rodeo contest while smoking three packs of Marlboro Reds at the same time. That would be very tasking to do and I couldn't do it. I was never sporty anyway (my coordination consists mainly of thumbing pages of a book while eating chichiria*) and my asthma prohibits me from infiltrating nicotine in my windpipe. But I did end the "question" in an easy manner. All I did was ride an ordinary bus from Shaw Boulevard to Fairview during rush hour and the result was pretty much the same. And voila! Instant asphyxiation and sooty appearance!

Well, I must admit that my discovery of so simple a task to end my curiosity about the matter was quite straightforward… and purely by chance. It was a shame that my motive for doing so was so unlike Galileo when he tested the wind's participation regarding the pull of gravity atop the Tower of Pisa (intentional) but more like Archimedes shouting "Eureka" for finding the formula for the density of water while taking a bath (accidental). My purpose was by no means scientific since my depleting pocket was caught whispering at my common sense to appeal at my practical side. If one was left with a measly twenty pesos* on one's pocket, one had no choice but to scrimped.

But in the name of scientific deduction and discovery, all was not in vain. It's quite remarkable that scrimping could make me experience a chance to experiment with my lung's tolerance level for air toxicity and to time my antibodies' allergic reactions for foreign microscopic particles before it could reduced me into a pathetic wheezy bronchial weakling. My miserly nature also introduced time efficiency: what's an hour and 30 minutes of bus ride compared to a whole day of cleaning the chimney or a coal mine shaft? To paraphrase the familiar Surf Laundry Soap's tagline "Sing linis pero hindi sing mahal", my method is "Sing dumi pero hindi sing tagal!"

Now that I have my "Einstein-ian" brain, which could deduce a scientific possibility by means of foresight (if Einstein formulated the Theory of Relativity by daydreaming, I could formulate the Non-Correlativity of Smiling and Thinking while vegging in front of the boobtube), in working order, I have figured out that if I continue penny pinching by riding ordinary bus up until Christmas (10 months to go) I could develop some form of a lung ailment that is much more virulent than my asthma. If I'm lucky I could even develop a mutated form of lung cancer! How about that huh? Not only do I get to save money but also the call of fame, fortune and excitement is on hand. Oh don't look at me as if I'm crazy you myopic simpleton! Your hindsight is a liability to the call of scientific emergence.

Consider this: An extremely life-and-death dramatic scramble for survival of a mega-biochemical-and-metaphysically-challenged-highly-evolved-malignant-tracheal-tumor patient with Einstein-ian brain, while waiting for a team of hopefully-not-inept lung cancer specialists to find a cure for the deadly disease. Thrilling huh? I can already hear the sweet sound of the mad rush of network executives to bid for the rights and make it a Reality TV Show that could make Survivors a run for their money. Fame, fortune, and adventure. Those, for a simple bus ride.

Oh so you thought you are being smart by throwing me the disabilities of my bus ride method by mentioning the sooty and smells-like-tinapa state of your filthy self. Now that my unique specimen of a medulla oblongata is raring to solve more problems, that odor dilemma is just a piece of cake.

So you are asking what the heck am I trying to say? I suppose your elementary fuse box can't figure it out. What I'm trying to say is that the smell of our very own tinapa has a major possibility of becoming a bottled scent. Preposterous you say? Well, why shouldn't it be made as a business prospect? It all has the 3 major factor of a perfume bestseller: a) it's a food aroma; b.)pungent smell that promises not to wear off easily; and c) it has a original cutting edge quality that could make you stand out.

I know, I know. You need me to elaborate right? Well, on first account, perfumery had a genius idea of imitating aroma coming from food such as herbs, fruits, cotton candy, bubblegum, and even wine. Tinapa is a fish, therefore food. Two, it is a major factor for perfume costumer that they purchase scents that wouldn't evaporate in a jiffy. You can depend on the tinapa's aroma to be long lasting. And of course, until today, tinapa's smell has never been considered as a possible perfume candidate. The mere thought struck you as ridiculous doesn't it? Well, let me tell you something: the sheer absurdity of the idea is exactly its sales pitch. Take for example the Funeral Scent from the perfume line of Demeter. Who would have thought that somebody would make a perfume that smells like formaldehyde? Who would have thought it would market well with the Goth fashionistas? If Funeral Scent took off, then, with the right market, Tinapa Scent would also take off! Hmmm… wouldn't you think it would sell like hotcakes to those people who favors "I-felt-like-I've-been-to-hell-from-commuting-all-day" or "I-am-a-hardworking-fish-vendor" look? And to make this foolproof, let's make it very expensive. Bragging rights of being able to afford something very costly would heighten the appeal of the Tinapa Scent.

But hey, this is the Philippines - the land of the fashionista wannabes and expert bootleg artists. If the Tinapa Scent become the latest rage of acquiring panache, and you cannot afford even a drop of the scent, you could always ride an ordinary bus from Shaw Boulevard to Fairview during rush hour.

P.S.

When you tire of smelling like smoked fish, you could get one of those auction templates to put up a site to dispose your vial. Believe me, there are internet savvy morons who'll buy anything just because of a product's novelty.

****
Message from the Saner Character : Watch out from the sarcasm drool dripping all over the floor.

I haven't done lists for quite a long time now so I'm posting my all time favorites.

Coffehouse/ Resto-cafe

1. Serg's Cafe @ Ortigas near Shangrila and Megamall -- great ambience (they play Bob Marley here a lot), internet rentals, and cheap coffee that tastes so much like rich sweet cocoa. (P30 - brewed coffee)

2. Likha-Diwa sa Gulod @ UP Diliman Campus -- ethnic/eclectic ambience, ethnic/eclectic music playing for the background, student-artist's work in display, organic-healthy food, yummy cold frothy mocha coffee, cheap Kapeng Barako, and Saturday Nights gig! (there's even an occasional tarot reading and palm reading ;)

Street food

1. Isaw manok
2. Kwek kwek
3. Fishball
4. Kikiam
5. Chicken gizzard

(I could never get tired eating those stuff)

Where I shop

1. Ukay-ukay --> basically means "thrift shop/ surplus shop/ or simple Garage Sale"
2. Any botique that has " Large Discount" displayed on the shop's window.
3. Tiangge/Bazarre

I go to the mall because:

1. To watch the movies with my friends (I prefer watching art films though... not much of the hollywood, but I do watch 'em)
2. To exercise my legs without ever sweating.
3. To hunt for cheap books at any BookSale outlet found in any malls.
4. To exercise my consumerism ability.
5. To look for new designs of clothes that'll help me conjure a new outfit for myself.
6. ... and this will go on, basically blabbing about those things a person do inside the mall... except for one thing though: I seldom buy clothes inside the mall...lol

Past time
1. look up at the stars
2. Plot world domination
3. surrender to my LSS (Last Song Syndrome)
4. Plot World Domination
5. try to finish reading all of those books I hoarded (20 books left... ooops! make that 30! I bought 10 more just yesterday... now if only i have time for this... I loathe reading without digesting whatever I read.... I should stop buying em heavy readings and opt for those light reads... like Chick lit or those gooey romance stuff)
6. Plot World Domination
7. Talk to myself
8. Plot World Domination
9. Spent time in allpoetry.com
10. Plot World Domination
11. Update my myspace journal and blurty blogger
12... Yeah, you should've guessed it by now... PLOT WORLD DOMINATION!

There is one thing constant in this world and that is change.

It is quite unpardonable to not move especially when the world is continually spinning despite the major grivances (e.g. nuclear bomb testings, racial descrimination, terrorist attacks, civil wars, and F4 fans vs. 5566 fans clashes) happening everyday.

The only way is forward... and if you do not move, might as well rot and die. But human beings does not move forward just because the Divine machinations are ordering them to do so. No... Man is a faulty creature. However much the faculty of mathemathics and science can calculate the unending possibilities of the future, the thing is, WE DO NOT KNOW FOR SURE. And the fact that we have a hazy view of the "things-yet-to-happen", some of us are afraid to move.

A stigma of failures and disappointments are the vitriolic devices that rots a person's feet at a standstill and make him whine senseless about how traumatic life can be... make him curl to fetal position, tears mixing with his snot running down his knees... makes him hate the Unseen Hand that pulls strings in our future... and makes him reach for the gun to blow his brains off.

If I'm in that position, I'd get out of the country, consult an Orlando plastic surgery expert to overhaul my face into a new one (brown paper bag is cheaper, but not really lasting) - preferrably a prettier version - and then assume a different identity, and then enter Hollywood so I could screw my new life again. That's what I'm going to do... not!

Seriously, there is a particular antidote to this poisonous device... and that is to DREAM. Yes... its quite simple really... when you focuses more on the positive things in life and make yourself believe you could reach it... even in delusions. Reaching for dreams makes you move forward... reaching for it makes you anticipate (not fear) for the future...

Ok... now let's go get an example.

Let's try to debunct the "looming" problem of my life. Brace yourself folks... a heavy introduction is usually the gateway for an equally heavy problem:

BURNT BREAKFAST

Yes... it seems that while we still have our housekeeper, I will constantly be plied by charred meals for ever and ever, amen. Carcinogenic food for eternity... woohoo...

Now, I will dream to banish that goddawful burnt breakfast... I hate that to be the constant thing in my world.

Been wishing that for ages... and lo and behold! The next morning? No more burnt food!!!! And guess what? We do not even have to change housekeeper for that!


Shucks... Dreams do come true *blissful smile*

****

Message from the saner character: I had chicken adobo this morning... *satisfied grin*

Great. Burnt eggs for breakfast. What a lovely way to start a new day... Eat burnt eggs, and oh! What is this? Is this rice? Thought so. Although, for a second there I thought our housekeeper resorted into paste-making. Now for some juice to complete the whole breakfast-trio... huwaaaaattt??? no OJ? how about pineapple then? nada? grapes? Pomelo? Ponkan? Mango? Zut, zilch, zero? Only carrot juice? Jeez... I'm done with this health-buff thingy. Gimme back my coffee!!!


***
Message from the Saner Character: Thank goodness for McDonald's... that comforting thought stopped me from morphing into the Queen of Hearts and shouting, "Off with their heads!"

While superheroes needed sidekick/s to save the world, future Overlords - such as I - needed an Igor to do my bidding.

Hitler charmed Mussollini to wage war on smaller countries... Julius Caesar has Brutus by his side... Sinister X has the Marauders do his dirty linens... HIM got Fuzzylumpkins and the Gangrene Gang to moonlight for his diabolical plans... and even Doctor Evil has his Minnie Me.

Now, who will I employ under my liege?

The task of finding someone worthy for the open position as my Commander-in-Chief is definitely ardous. I posted an ad on the newspaper, and the responses are overwhelming. In just a day, the mailman arrived in a dumptruck and unload all the letters in my front porch... Cool... Only the Protect-The-Trees activists are now hounding my place, pestering me to recycle all these letters to toilet paper as relief goods to those UN Charities.

Anyweyz, the massive bulk of replies means two things: 1) There are lots of people who recognizes me as a potential success in power-mongering... and 2) there are lots of bums in the world who are willing to apply for ANY jobs just so they could get a deeper meaning of their boring existence and get out of ANGST de ENNUI.

After screening those first three who applied for the position: a ballerina with a penchant for unicorns and pink tutus with a snooty kid scientist named Dexter for a brother (her only passport for consideration...she's waaaaay too flighty for my taste); a sexy, brainy Townsville mayor's secretary with red curls and no face; and a perpetual happy lil demon who loves to bounce (not walk) using his butt (found among the company of Cow and Chicken or Weasel and Babboon), I was submerged in a spiralling doom of depression, reduced me to twiddling my thumb in mental stupor, and made me forgot the luscious blueberry pie leftover from the fridge. 

Surely, these people doesn't think all of this talk about world domination is kid stuff??? What would that ballerina do in the face of a battle? Dance them to death??? And Miss Vellum... weird people off from her lack of facial features? And how about that Red bouncing guy? Will he challenge them to butt-bouncing contest??? Jeez...

World Domination is not kiddie stuff... I want BLOOD! I want GORE! I want BLOODY GORIFICIOUSLY .... BLOOD! This is SERIOUS BUSINESS! And I want someone who looks like he can be BLOODY-HELLBOUND!

Thus, I occupied myself by making prank calls. I cheered up a little bit  when I accidentally  put up my secretary with an appointment with a Chicago rhinoplasty expert. That dude is welcome to my secretary's bulbous nose.

Anyweyz, having cheered up a little, I took a deep breath and went back to screening some application. This time, all was not in vain::

****
Name: Darth

Bio:

People ask me why my screen name is darth. Ok, so mine is like a nickname. My real name is kinda stupid... Anakin... geeze... who names a kid Anakin? I looked for a good alternate, but the picken's were pretty bad. At the time, I was a member of this gang called the Jedi... a real bunch of creeps. They suggested names like "Dumpy" or "Puddles" or "Fat Bald One", but I wanted something cooler...

So anyway, this Jedi bunch had a whole lotta rules you hadda follow and its run by these really nerdy aliens. I only joined 'cause this old guy... and get this name "Qui-Gon Jinn", like kidnaps me from a great job I had on Tatooine and sells me on this Jedi crap. So he gets killed and this guy "Dopey One" or somethin like that, is supposed to teach me the ropes, but he is so friggin' slow and boring about it that I just wanna bolt... but nooooo, you can't just leave the Jedi. So's I challenge him to a duel... bad move... he beats the living crap out of me and slices off one of my hands... MY FAVORITE HAND if you know what I mean.

So I am pissed... really pissed and join this other gang called the Sith who hate the friggin Jedi's as much as I do and they make me a Dark Lord... cool. They were the one's who named me "Darth", but I dropped the capital and became darth.

After that, I was a virgin for several years then took on the guise of a British games keeper... this fooled many, but when my ploy was discovered I quickly changed into a salpoint proactive seal condition. This was not satisfying. Three feet from center, I found that the earth, although appearing to rotate the sun, was actually circling in for the kill. This disturbed many, but I gained solace in the fact that even if proton decay is real, it is circumvented by the fact that few, if any, will live long enough for it to occur. Why the DNA helix alone confused several before officially being declared obtuse.

My kid has been giving me real problems... years ago I let my brother raise him and he turned out rotten. He got involved with this bozo "princess" and she convinced him to join a bunch of terrorists who have been harassing us to no end. We were convinced her government was hiding weapons of mass destruction so I felt it was necessary to free their people by blowing up their planet. So the kid blames ME! Like I started the war.

Anyway, the crazy religion my kid follows, forces him and a bunch of others to do this suicide attack against my Death Star... you should have seen it... it was sooo cool... the size of a moon... it was brand new... still had that new leviathan smell.

Well his chances were little and none of doing anything substantial, so I got a couple of my buddies and we flew out to stop him. We got most of his buddies, but MY son... had to be mine... gets a one in a million shot and takes out my Death Star... a 50,000,000,000,000 dollar piece of equipment! And he gets away before I can ground him. So the Emperor is pissed with me and takes the cost of it out of my salary... damn kids.

Now here's the ridiculous part... We start to rebuild the Death Star... this time we just want to use it as a tourist attraction around this cool jungle planet we found, and maybe blow up a few rebel fleets, but nothing much... Well, before we get it half done, my rotten kid comes back and does it again... AND he kills me and the emperor for good measure. If that isn't an argument for birth control, I don't know what is.

So lately me, that instructor guy I killed a while back named Dopey One... and Yodel his old boss, a little fuzzy green creep, play three-handed pinochle for eternity... bummer. I can't be reincarnated until I can get life insurance... and with my record, that's going to take a long time.

****

Isn't he just perfect???

****

Bidding, Recruiting and Persuasion STARTS RIGHT NOW:

ME: One click at your Chicken Farm poem... that is my undoing...
it made me want some more... and by checking your introduction, oh ho hoooo boy... you just unwittingly gifted me with the Doomsday power of THE Methane Gas... perfect for my quest of world domination... *maniacal laugh*

so darth, since you owe mondo big time mollah to your emperor.. care for doing a sideline planning a third Deathstar under my liege? *evil grin*

DARTH: Whoa, don't even talk about the third Death Star, that turned out to be a real bummer. We ran out of money after the first two and had to make the third out of cream cheese. Couldn't afford armor plating so we just rolled it in nuts. Didn't really scare anyone, but it sure gave them gas... maybe that's where all that methane came from

ME: cream cheese and nuts? hmmm.... economical... you sure don't want the position sir? i'll pay you in advance with a hundred more chickens so you could start up that farm you screw up... and oh, a new cooler screen name so your pesky kid can't find you...

DARTH I think I have exhausted my luck with chickens. The kid is definitely out of the will. Turns out, he had the hots for his sister. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. I didn't raise him that way for sure.

ME: u sure didn't raised him that way... because you didn't raised any.. much less kids... hmmm... in fact, come to think of it, what with failure in chickens, cream cheese, death star, and ur kids... you are ONE RISKY FUTURE EMPLOYEE...maybe i should settle for one of em Death Eaters in Harry Potter...*ponderous... hmmmmmm*

DARTH: I have a very bad track record.

ME: yes... tsk tsk... u gotta clean up my man.. or else incur the wrath of the IRS... hmmm...maybe ur son is a secret agent there doncha think?

END OF BIDDING, RECRUITMENT, PERSUASION

****

And the bloke didn't get to answer anymore... maybe his kid got hold of his hideout and swipe him off from the face of the earth... Oh I forgot... he's already wiped out the face of the earth, playing pinocle with his enemies. Ahhhh... this is making my head pound...

Mussollini is a nincompoop (almost lost his massive troops in a tiny African country, if Hitler didn't give him a hand)... Brutus betrayed his friend and master... Stan Lee always makes the X-Men beat the butts of Sinister's Marauders... Fuzzy and the Gangrene Gang have fickle loyalty with HIM... and Minnie Me went pals with Austin.

Tsk... tsk...Who needs Commander-in-Chiefs anyweyz? I am starting to think that I don't... But this just reminded me to start stacking on Alka-Seltzers...

***
Message from the Saner Character: That conversation up there was a real IM conversation. Darth is real... check him out at http://www.allpoetry.com/poets/darth ...

http://allpoetry.com/Poem/715602 --> Check out his Chicken Farm too :D

Everyone has their own Achilles heel... even future Dominatrix of the universe - such as I - has weaknesses that I am wary to show to people lest some party-pooper smash my nefarious plans for the world.

But yes, there is also a thing called "the glitch of the universe" where people got sucked in a parallel dimension, getting completely nauseous (and an "all-system-barriers-broken-down" message flashing on the forehead) from the vacuum-ride, and then all the hidden "kryptonites" come a-spilling.

That "glitch" has a name of course... and it's spelled as L O V E.

Yes. Like any other human beings, I - the future Overlord - is prone for the glitch. I used to think that I can never ever succumb to such things but well...

I have found a worthy match... *nodded seriously*

He, the object of my twisted desire, is an annoying-insufferable-intensely-irritating-gnat-under-my-skin. He's waaaaayyyy taller than I am (which makes me worry so much because I probably look like a munchkin next to him... that's not good when you are an aspiring dominatrix), and has this real bad ass image, when actually, he's a real chickadee underneath. He's a nice guy, really... except when he's trying to make me late (or call in sick) for work (and he does that a loooooooot of times).... or when he's always messing around my guillible self (yeye, I'm soft-headed at times... more kryptonites for you to prey on huh?)... or when he'd worry me to death when he's attempting to remake his own version of Kenny (Southpark).

A devil. An angel. My bedeviled angel. He's all this and that... HE NEVER BORES ME!

And my penchant to get interested to anybody who does not fall for me in an instant is another factor for my undoing... he probably think I am this crazy kiddo with a mouthful of highfalutin words spouting forth from time to time (he probably still thinks so until now... )

He never set out to trap me nor tame me... but oddly enough, I am tamed by him.
He never forced his decisions on me... but I find myself asking what he thinks.
He, more than once, pushed me away because he thinks he isn't worthy... but will not be pushed...

And no matter how many times he does that just because he doesnt want me to get carried along with him in the downward currents he himself made, I WILL NOT BE PUSHED!

I will carry him up, no matter how heavy he and his baggage is or else, let me be swallowed by the tides alongside him.

The only way for him to get rid of me IS and WHEN the time comes that he no longer cares for me. But until he said those words with all honesty... and I really do believe in his words... I will never back down...

Afterall, a dominatrix ALWAYS fight for her dreams...

So citizens of the world... practice adulation... the world is DOOMED for my onslaught! *maniacal laugh*

Ok. Here goes… no more editing. In the name of grammatical errors, gibberish thoughts, and all else that fails any Obsessive-Compulsive English Language Snobs (O-CEL) to be impressed with my writing prowess, I will write – unhindered, unbound, and uhmm…uhmmm… ok, I’ll not reach for my thesaurus this time…

So where was I? Oh… here goes:

For the sake of putting something on my pathetically un-updated blog, I WILL WRITE ANYTHING THAT POPS INTO MY BRAIN!!!

So there you go… the game is anything goes. Kinda like those contests I always encounter on allpoetry.com (AP) where they would ask you to just write the first thing that you could think of and then just let your mental juices flow. My friend in AP (her name is Duana) calls this activity as the “blank page exercise” … of which I had interpreted as staring blankly at my pc screen, and hopefully tire my eyes enough to be pronounced as “exercised”.

And now I am just writing freely… never daring to even pause lest you’ll call me out as a “cheater” and declare that I am still plotting to make this thing passable for the revered “nods” of those Insufferably Opinionated Grammar Bores (OIGB- other name of O-CEL) who get the “itch” whenever they’re encountering wrong spellings and grammatical errors in anything they read or hear. (Note: When my plan for world domination takes action, I will recruit those OIGBs in my legion of doom. You’ll fear and hate their presence more than you’ll ever fear and hate those Death Eaters. Speak faultless grammar OR ELSE you’ll get corrected SENSELESS)

So write, I will… I will write… And you will read… read, will you?

Keep me company while I blab. Let’s see if I could come up with any meatier topic than just talking about the subject of nothing. Hmmm… hmmm… hmmm… ok, a question: If “nothing” is talked about, will it become something?

See here: A nobody is being talked about… if a “nobody” is a “nobody” then that “nobody” wouldn’t have anything interesting in his “nobody-ness” to be talked about right? But such things occur… when a nobody is being talked about… and if that is so, then he would turned out to be a somebody because “somebody” are always being talked about. (huh?)

Now, I am talking “nothing”… it would turn into “something” since it was talked about…

So if you‘re still reading this, you’d probably find yourself scratching in the head, all ready to strangle me in irritation, and then screeching at me, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???”

Beats me. All I know is that the hypothesis is correct: If “nothing” is talked about, it certainly will turn into something… and this, my dear readers, has turned into something –

*CRAP*

Character mode: gibberish mackaw

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Message from the saner character: California-based Filipino-American poet/artist/writer Jessica Hagedor, once said in an interview, “The only way to get around writing is to write”.