01 April 2008
Happy birthday, everyone!
Yep, it’s all our day today. April Stools. Oh come on, we’d all been fools in some points in our histories. So go celebrate! I’m recounting a few of the most unforgettable… pranks… life has thrown at me. I call them pranks because they’re too stupid even I’ve ended up Moron of the Day quite a few times already. But they're all entertaining in a strange way or two. That all I can do now is look back and… sigh.
---
It was the year of debutants for our batch and so, virginity aside, girls were “becoming ladies” here and there. We staged a surprise cotillion for a gal I call Tingkulot—where we pulled a fantastic impromptu major production, with full house decors and a two-venue reception to boot! I got up late the following morning and missed the opening of the second banquet, also called breakfast. A guy named RJ, who now has two kids and lives in Valenzuela, welcomed me with a pinch of cake that had just been sliced. Which I readily bit because I was starving. I’d like to look at it as a bright side, ‘coz in rushing I forgot to brush my teeth: But on the third chew I noticed something mint-y in the thing I just put in my big mouth. Cake con Colgate. I never looked at icing the same way again.
---
My dad, despite all protests imaginable, dumped me in an exclusive school for 90-percent-testosterones in high school. After I grew up bouncing in co-education for about 8 years. At first I was scared because—who was I gonna beFriend there, the hag librarian? But soon it turned out there was nothing to be afraid of. At all. Let’s just say… with cheerleading competitions, who was I to keep complaining about the school? Oh and we were champions in our senior year. *wink*
---
Until today, I keep hearing people “explain” deviancy. How gays are simply “experiencing a phase in their lives” and “will revert back” to wanting to nail their "real" counterparts sooner or later. Even a priest made snide remarks to family acquaintances right beside me a few years back. Well don't you just love learning from perfect experts. I wanted to dye his remaining hair neon blue, but I guess wishful thinking isn’t something we deprive off morons. After all, like how an author puts it: a phase is a phase, but if you actually enjoy your life, then it’s a whole different thing. Besides, shopping is never complete without confusing mall guards. “Good evening, ma’am… uh, sir… ma’am?” Sweet.
---
I am standing my ground. A fag is a fag is a fag. No matter how high you raise your collar or how tight your shirt is. Or how huge you build your mumps all over your freakish body. Get this: My bucks goes to a Roderick Paulate prancing in the rain in pink tutus and NEVER to an Arnold Schwarzenegger staging a Mariah Carey Honey music video with seven more Arnold Schwarzeneggers in a gym. More than scary, it’s eww.
---
It was kindergarten and for the first time our school was holding a kiddie camp. I was never interested in sleeping on cracked soil, much less in being a scout. But I packed for a night out all for the glory of kiddieraderie. At around 9PM, it was time to snooze. One of the “guardians”—who were themselves guarded, as they were just the school’s graders—came to our tent for some bedtime stories, and of course he brought scary tales. After that story of a corpse rising from the grave to search for her stolen finger, he pretended to be lost in thought. Oddly, he looked cute, I suddenly realized. My geek tent-mates were just staring at him, so I decided to ask him if he was okay. In a split second he began laughing like a crazed hyena that the entire camp rushed to our spot. I leapt back and was ready to rip my way out of that crazy hole when I heard him laughing at our stupid faces. Bastard. Although, I still would’ve told him he could scare me over and over and over if he wanted to…
---
At the time the Internet was first popularized in the country, of course we were all very curious about the technology. One day, a cousin, who loves all things machine-ic, asked me to sit in front of the computer... and smile. He did not mention “webcam” but he said he was going to take my picture via the computer. Translation: That I’m the biggest moron. I sat there, SMILING, and he kept telling me to be still and wait for my photo to appear on screen. The screen “moved” seconds later alright, loading something up. I was both insulted and annoyed when a picture of a brown-haired monkey appeared. We could've lost a relative at that exact moment, but the help was currently using the kitchen axe. And that’s how early my belief in the Web evaporated.
---
Contrary to public misbelief, I had a fun childhood. I had playmates in our subdivision and we spent fantastic eventful FUN days under the sun, moon and whatever hell is in between. Then one day, one eerily, strangely, mysteriously inconceivably freaky day, we all woke up with the one same thought: I do not know anyone. As. In. Nobody spoke to anyone ever again. And that was before I hit Grade 3. I’m still bewildered until today, but if we what we had was just a huge prank of the cosmos, then the cosmos scored biggie in all seven of us.
---
Speaking of neighborly love. A neighbor sicked his puppies on me one afternoon back when I was 5 or 6. He asked me to pat them first, and I did because they were sooooo cuuuute. Then suddenly, I dunno what happened, they began barking at me and even tried to snack on my porcelain legs. That uncut leper adolescent didn’t even try to stop them. Moments later the now-evil pups were chasing me crazy, with everybody else just watching in hilarity while I was almost crying and screaming for help. I did not speak to anyone for weeks. But know what made the whole thing more idiotic? I ran half a block to the main village road when I could’ve just run to the house right in front of where I’d been playing with the canines earlier. Boink.
---
As it came with the Innocence package, until the sixth grade I allowed my folks to bring me to… to… to the… barber shop. I KNOW. YUCK. Stinky place, rotten combs, rusty blades, dirty hands! Eww eww euwwwwww! One day, when I finally had the courage, I asked the… ugh, barber… NOT to touch my bangs. He declined my request, because, “Magagalit ang tatay mo (Your dad will get mad).” Then he ran his ancient scissors in a straight line… but after that I wasn’t even anywhere near Tyra Banks-nice! ‘Twas more like box-Lego-Tyra-in-a-cement-wig! I was laughing stock in school for a few weeks. THAT SONUVAPOOCH! I cursed that dimwit and his children and grandchildren and great-grandmoles with herpes, armpit acne and eternal baldness. And should the rage be rekindled, heavens help me, I will hunt down his entire line and tattoo bamboo bangs on their foreheads myself!
---
It was the year of debutants for our batch and so, virginity aside, girls were “becoming ladies” here and there. We staged a surprise cotillion for a gal I call Tingkulot—where we pulled a fantastic impromptu major production, with full house decors and a two-venue reception to boot! I got up late the following morning and missed the opening of the second banquet, also called breakfast. A guy named RJ, who now has two kids and lives in Valenzuela, welcomed me with a pinch of cake that had just been sliced. Which I readily bit because I was starving. I’d like to look at it as a bright side, ‘coz in rushing I forgot to brush my teeth: But on the third chew I noticed something mint-y in the thing I just put in my big mouth. Cake con Colgate. I never looked at icing the same way again.
---
My dad, despite all protests imaginable, dumped me in an exclusive school for 90-percent-testosterones in high school. After I grew up bouncing in co-education for about 8 years. At first I was scared because—who was I gonna beFriend there, the hag librarian? But soon it turned out there was nothing to be afraid of. At all. Let’s just say… with cheerleading competitions, who was I to keep complaining about the school? Oh and we were champions in our senior year. *wink*
---
Until today, I keep hearing people “explain” deviancy. How gays are simply “experiencing a phase in their lives” and “will revert back” to wanting to nail their "real" counterparts sooner or later. Even a priest made snide remarks to family acquaintances right beside me a few years back. Well don't you just love learning from perfect experts. I wanted to dye his remaining hair neon blue, but I guess wishful thinking isn’t something we deprive off morons. After all, like how an author puts it: a phase is a phase, but if you actually enjoy your life, then it’s a whole different thing. Besides, shopping is never complete without confusing mall guards. “Good evening, ma’am… uh, sir… ma’am?” Sweet.
---
I am standing my ground. A fag is a fag is a fag. No matter how high you raise your collar or how tight your shirt is. Or how huge you build your mumps all over your freakish body. Get this: My bucks goes to a Roderick Paulate prancing in the rain in pink tutus and NEVER to an Arnold Schwarzenegger staging a Mariah Carey Honey music video with seven more Arnold Schwarzeneggers in a gym. More than scary, it’s eww.
---
It was kindergarten and for the first time our school was holding a kiddie camp. I was never interested in sleeping on cracked soil, much less in being a scout. But I packed for a night out all for the glory of kiddieraderie. At around 9PM, it was time to snooze. One of the “guardians”—who were themselves guarded, as they were just the school’s graders—came to our tent for some bedtime stories, and of course he brought scary tales. After that story of a corpse rising from the grave to search for her stolen finger, he pretended to be lost in thought. Oddly, he looked cute, I suddenly realized. My geek tent-mates were just staring at him, so I decided to ask him if he was okay. In a split second he began laughing like a crazed hyena that the entire camp rushed to our spot. I leapt back and was ready to rip my way out of that crazy hole when I heard him laughing at our stupid faces. Bastard. Although, I still would’ve told him he could scare me over and over and over if he wanted to…
---
At the time the Internet was first popularized in the country, of course we were all very curious about the technology. One day, a cousin, who loves all things machine-ic, asked me to sit in front of the computer... and smile. He did not mention “webcam” but he said he was going to take my picture via the computer. Translation: That I’m the biggest moron. I sat there, SMILING, and he kept telling me to be still and wait for my photo to appear on screen. The screen “moved” seconds later alright, loading something up. I was both insulted and annoyed when a picture of a brown-haired monkey appeared. We could've lost a relative at that exact moment, but the help was currently using the kitchen axe. And that’s how early my belief in the Web evaporated.
---
Contrary to public misbelief, I had a fun childhood. I had playmates in our subdivision and we spent fantastic eventful FUN days under the sun, moon and whatever hell is in between. Then one day, one eerily, strangely, mysteriously inconceivably freaky day, we all woke up with the one same thought: I do not know anyone. As. In. Nobody spoke to anyone ever again. And that was before I hit Grade 3. I’m still bewildered until today, but if we what we had was just a huge prank of the cosmos, then the cosmos scored biggie in all seven of us.
---
Speaking of neighborly love. A neighbor sicked his puppies on me one afternoon back when I was 5 or 6. He asked me to pat them first, and I did because they were sooooo cuuuute. Then suddenly, I dunno what happened, they began barking at me and even tried to snack on my porcelain legs. That uncut leper adolescent didn’t even try to stop them. Moments later the now-evil pups were chasing me crazy, with everybody else just watching in hilarity while I was almost crying and screaming for help. I did not speak to anyone for weeks. But know what made the whole thing more idiotic? I ran half a block to the main village road when I could’ve just run to the house right in front of where I’d been playing with the canines earlier. Boink.
---
As it came with the Innocence package, until the sixth grade I allowed my folks to bring me to… to… to the… barber shop. I KNOW. YUCK. Stinky place, rotten combs, rusty blades, dirty hands! Eww eww euwwwwww! One day, when I finally had the courage, I asked the… ugh, barber… NOT to touch my bangs. He declined my request, because, “Magagalit ang tatay mo (Your dad will get mad).” Then he ran his ancient scissors in a straight line… but after that I wasn’t even anywhere near Tyra Banks-nice! ‘Twas more like box-Lego-Tyra-in-a-cement-wig! I was laughing stock in school for a few weeks. THAT SONUVAPOOCH! I cursed that dimwit and his children and grandchildren and great-grandmoles with herpes, armpit acne and eternal baldness. And should the rage be rekindled, heavens help me, I will hunt down his entire line and tattoo bamboo bangs on their foreheads myself!
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