Saturday, January 24, 2009

CKRRRRRRUNCHK!!!

It’s always fun brushing one’s teeth after doing vile, vile things with your mouth, such as feasting on cups of garlic, smoking pot, cursing, and other such nefarious activities you can do with your mouth. Two nights ago as I was brushing away, rivulets of bubbly Colgate running down the posterior aspect of my right forearm—pointless side story, for some reason rivulets of bubbly Colgate always run down the posterior aspect of my right forearm up to the elbow whenever I brush, and I usually forget to notice it or wash it off, so I tend to always go to work with a long white vertical line on my forearm, and someone always asking me what it is—pointless side story to the side story, the rivulets usually drip to my shoes, so I also go to work with white drops on my shoes, which, Kula Shaker always theorized, was semen—so as I was saying, as I was brushing away, I saw two hair-like things jutting out from the sink drain, calculatingly, menacingly moving around, and of course they were just the vicious antennae of the creature slowly climbing out of the drain, the vicious antennae of one disgusting, vicious albino cockroach!

Eeeep!!! I eepe-ed as I jumped back, aspirating the frothy contents of my mouth. I immediately ran back to my room and grabbed the bug spray and I sprayed, sprayedsprayedsprayed at the lone albino cockroach, who tried to fight it off by tumbling and tossing around and doing all sorts of acrobatics until it could no longer withstand the poison, the poison rapidly getting absorbed in that hideous exoskeleton causing great pain and paralysis. And he laid there frozen, but his antennae continued twirling around, more maliciously this time, obviously sending out a telepathic distress signal to other mutant cockroaches!!! And had I not been trained by Imra Ardeen Saturn Girl, Jean Grey, and The Martian Manhunter I would have failed to intercept the telepathic burst it was sending: H-e-e-e-l-p m-e d-e-a-r f-r-i-e-n-d-s. A-t-r-o-p-i-n-e. A-T-R-O-P-I-N-E!!!” So I reached out for the can of bug spray again, raised it up in the air, and slammed it down on his albino carcass until I heard a gratifying “CKRRRRUNCHK!” But before lifting the can off the cadaver I just had to make sure, so I grated it against the sink until I heard an even more gratifying “SQSHSHQUCK!”

I therefore declare that the most horrifying creature of them all is not the regular, Coke-colored cockroach, but the albino cockroach. No matter how evil and appalling you are, politicians, rattle snakes, Hepatitis B-laced needle-stick injuries, internet casino spammers, and prions, you don’t hold a candle against the albino cockroach.

The Force of Your Thrusts Will Bring Me Back to Life, said the Kinky Girl

The best way to watch Nip/Tuck specially if you don’t have much time is to get a DVD copy, play it on your computer, and scroll to the sensational, disgusting, good parts. That way I have watched almost 15 episodes in 1 hour, and this is what I’ve learned:

After breaking it off with Christian and Sean, Julia decides she is now a lesbian and who should be her lesbian lover but Portia de Rossi to the chagrin of Sean, who, at the same time, is being seduced by Portia’s own daughter, who is on the side trying to teach Sean’s 12 year-old daughter how to be bulimic, do coke, and give head. Meanwhile, Sean is trying to have a relationship with an actress who apparently had gastric bypass years ago to lose weight, but this actress is in fact still trying to contend with weight issues, so she takes a lot of laxatives, and one morning while she and Sean are about to have sex in the Jacuzzi she uncontrollably craps liquid crap all over the Jacuzzi, turning the water into a brown pool of stool, which is supposedly okay with Sean, but he still gets it on with Portia’s 18-year old daughter and manages to have an acute MI in the middle of sex.

Meanwhile, Sean’s son Matt who is married to ex-porn star turned ex-scientologist now meth-junkie Kimmy is now dirt poor as Kimmy has given all their money away to Scientology, and after being disowned by Scientology turned to crystal meth for comfort. In poverty and drug-craziness Kimmy tries to get back into porn by talking to a porn producer who looks suspiciously like Jonathan Kent, who declares that Kimmy is now ugly and that Matt instead should be the one giving porn a try, particularly gay porn where the real money is, so into the enema room Matt goes.

Lots and lots of sex galore, as Christian engages in a threesome with two Marilyn Monroe look-alikes, with a prostitute who looks like his ex-girlfriend who has HIV, and with a Kinky Girl. What Kinky Girl wants is to immerse herself in a bathtub full of ice to induce hypothermia, and once she is GCS 3 she wants Christian to immediately carry her to the bed and have sex with her frozen body, in the hopes that, to quote her, “the force of your thrusts will bring me back to life”. Kinky Girl explains this away by saying that her sister killed herself when they were kids, which depressed her mom much, hence this kinkiness. Huh?! Her kinkiness of course lands her in the emergency room.

More kinkiness!

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Hunger Pangs

Noticed that a lot of my batchmates have been losing weight recently, and if last year it was from all the running in the hospital, I know that this time it's because of poverty. Yes, poverty, from having no money at all. I myself am amazed at the huge amount of disgusting skin now sagging from different areas in my body as the extreme hunger nastily eats away at the old disgusting fat. Everyone is emaciated, dry, and all kinds of crazy from the low blood sugar. Unlike the usual bevy of food just cluttering the common dining table, there is now a single, expired cup of moldy fruit preserves sitting there since October--who would eat it being the ultimate test of hunger. How dare you, patients, looking at us with your parched eyes and telling us how poor you are, when you at least have free hospital-subsidized meals. How dare you, corridor cats, to cutesily meow at us in hopes of getting scraps, when we can see how sated you really are, you gluttonous cutesy cats. Two nights ago I found myself so deep in poverty that it suddenly occurred to me that a couple of months ago, I dropped a five peso coin under my bed. So I crawled under the bed and looked for it, and there it was, something to buy an ounce of salt with. Hungry... just... so... hungry...

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Resolve

I’ve recently discovered that so far, I have all the action figures that I need and that I won’t be buying anything more ever. I am formally announcing my abstinence from action figures, which, as I’m saying it, is already causing uncontrollable fine finger tremors and unilateral eyelid twitching. I’ve just rearranged all of them once again, and I think it’s the best ultimate superhero action group pose I’ve done so far. I know I always say this, but this time I really think it’s the best ultimate superhero action group pose I’ve done so far.

The DC Direct level is now sort of divided into three, with the middle being the JLA, the right containing the JSA and the other non-group heroes, and the left having the Batman family and villains. The 2nd DC Direct level now contains the Silver Age incarnations in the middle, and the New Frontier, Alex Ross, and Red Son versions in the periphery. And it is with this rearrangement that I’ve come to realize that I can keep them this way for a long time, without adding anyone. The other figures that I need are no longer available, or are not yet being made, or will not even be made, which includes Silver Age incarnations of the other Legion of Superheroes, a hot-looking Nicola Scott or Ed Benes version of Oracle, formerly Batgirl, and other vital JSA members like Jakeem and Johnny Thunder with the pink Thunderbolt, Liberty Belle, Sand, Damage, Atom Smasher, and Powergirl. It would also be nice, of course, if DC will make a Silver Age Superman set wave 2, which should include Lana Lang, Ma and Pa Kent, Jor-El in the green suit with the sun emblem, Lara, Pete Ross, and even Lori Lemaris and Jerro the Mer-boy for Supergirl’s dating pleasure. And I wouldn’t mind, really, if they’ll re-release those that I’ve missed like the Infinite Crisis Powergirl and the LOSH kids. All of these, of course, would amount to huge amounts of money, which I don’t and will never ever have. I just think that at some point, I need to prepare for the future. Like what if I get nasopharyngeal carcinoma next week and I need radiation and chemo? What if I get involved in an accident which will require expensive bilateral lower extremity prostheses? Or what if I all of a sudden become unsettlingly vain and demand to have a chin implant?

Chin implant. Come to think of it, it’s probably not vanity. After inordinate hours of staring at my chin in the mirror, this weak chin could explain years of getting bullied, and years of being a supporting cast in someone else’s big budget blockbuster movie. Blockbuster movie, for those with good, square chins. Not necessarily those with clefts, I am actually yet to see one, but chins that seem to say don’t mess with me or I’ll point this missile launcher at your city. Or to you if you’re too insistent in having me sign this… this contract, this farce, this abomination. What the fuck are you talking about, you ask, dismayed at the digressions on top of mis-digressions on top of sub-tangentialities on top of overt schizophrenia. I don’t know.

Foot in the Mouth

A few years ago my friend Keyser was set up to have a Valentines' date with Goth Girl. He is codenamed Keyser here because I want to, but Goth Girl is called such because she is indeed a Goth Girl. When I asked him the night before what she might be like, Keyser said his sister described her as a total goth. When I asked her what he hoped she would look like, he replied, "Basta hindi nya kamuka si Hippura!".

Hippura, of course, is one of our classmates. In class the next day I approached Hippura and excitedly said, "Hippura, hippura, hippura, may date si Keyser ngayong gabi at sabi nya okay lang daw kahit ano itsura basta wag mo lang kamuka!!!" I don't know why I thought this was a good idea, because it obviously wasn't. It was like that Ally McBeal episode where she imagined her own foot getting rammed down her mouth to illustrate foot in the mouth. Because Hippura let out one visceral shriek and tore out my entrails in rage.

When I asked Keyser the next day what the date was like he just kept quiet and changed the subject. Since then Hippura and I patched up, and since then I underwent the 12-step Program in Tact. Goth Girl was never heard from again. And Keyser and Hippura? They eventually ended up together. Warm and fuzzy!

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Vela

The latest mechanical ventilator to grace our beloved medical ICU is this purple machine called Vela. She is sleek, smart, a little shy, not too clingy, does not wear too much make-up, and most of all, touchscreen. And you can clamp her to the bed if you want to move the patient around. Remarkably, every time we introduce her to someone, say to the latest resident rotator or a student or nurse or someone, and we say, “This one is called Vela”, 9 times out of 10 that person would all of a sudden sing… “Vela, ela, ela, eh eh eh ” to the tune of Rihanna’s Umbrella. This phenomenon, of course, must be nothing compared to actual people who are named Ella, who must receive this sudden burst of singing from total strangers who were just introduced to them. Curiously enough, that 1 out of 10 outlier who didn’t automatically sing or bring out an umbrella and dance around the ICU in fishnet stockings when we introduced her to Vela is someone named… Bella.

Friday, January 2, 2009

I Want I Want I Want

It was i guess two years ago when I had the last I want I want I want post. An I want post is a post where I annoy everyone and insinuate my wants on the 2 readers reading the I want entry. This started out as a parody on all the people who always say I want I want I want--like I want this new phone, or I want to date this person, or I want to afford these expensive drugs--which eventually evolved and gestated and festered into a genuine, personal, irritating I want I want I want entry. Two years ago, I said I want to be an office cubicle worker, but now I want I want I want to be... a tambay.

Yes, a tambay, not in a room reading comic books, or in a mall, or in a gazebo tambayan in Diliman, but a tambay on a bench of a sari-sari store drinking royal tru orange in a plastic bag, smoking Marlboro (reds, mind you, reds), whiling away hours on end by virtue of not having any money. Of course, in a couple of weeks I may discover I have a pancreatic head tumor, and I would want to be some rich mogul to afford a Whipples.

Book Notes

Because so far I’ve had notes on comic books, TV, and even on—well, sort of—porn. So it’s time to talk about the books I’ve read the past year. Back in the days I would log down the books I’ve been reading in a sort of journal, but now I can blog about them! Review them! Boast about them! Gush over the complexities and juxtapositions and the art and the parallelisms! Comment on the novel styles of the authors! Pretend to complain about how difficult they are to read, when in fact am making yabang at how I was able to read through the difficulty anyway! For everyone to see and appreciate! For everyone to appreciate at what erudite choices I have! For everyone to give me a pat on the back! And now, the books I’ve read in 2008….
Nothing.
It is with much shame that I report that in 2008 I have read absolutely… nothing. Zero. Haven’t even cracked one, can’t even do a consolation list of books I’ve started to read but failed to finish, or even a pathetic wish list of books in the book store I wish to read, because I have totally lost it. Not even a quick read of an Agatha Christie. Or some children’s literature. Zero.
There is no one to blame for this lack of ability to make time to feed your soul with literature and fiction and great stories but yourself, you annoyingly point out. Wrong. This I totally blame on the time spent writing… on charts!!! On the time spent running…. to charitable institutions for free meds!!! On the time romancing and courting… X-ray, CT-scan, ultrasound, and 2D-echo schedulers!!! On the time ordering… things already ordered! Thrice!!! Dang it.
Enough of the whining, much of it has been whined about repeatedly anyway. Now since I have, theoretically, more time to read something more than the 10-minute quick fix comic book this coming year, what do I plan to read? What titles will I ravenously feast upon? What new characters will I discover and assume the roles of? Which authors will I start having proverbial sex with (obviously running out of predicates here)?
As I said, I couldn’t even make a pathetic wish list of books in the bookstore I wish to read, having had a sort of lost year. Suggestions!

Comic Book Notes!

Time for my favorite thing to write about which bores everyone—comic book notes! Wherein I talk about time-displaced superheroes whose parents are murdered and get lost in the 52 multiverses and stuff as if they are really happening, obviously having run out of haloperidol!
1. Batman is dead. This is not a symbolic statement as to how the things he represents are no longer relevant in these tumultuous times or something—I mean Batman is physically dead. Whether he is really dead, of course, is another issue, but for now, we will hold on to the belief that Bruce Wayne really exploded in that helicopter. This happened in the storyline Batman R.I.P, written by Grant Morrison. A storyline I couldn’t follow well for its in-your-face weirdness that seemed to be there for the sake of weirdness. For instance, what the heck is zurr-en-arrh?!? I know it’s fun to say, but what the heck is it?!
2. Following the events of Batman R.I.P all the other bat books will be cancelled, particularly Robin, Nightwing, and Birds of Prey, all of which are now running for more than 10 years. In its place will be such ditties as Battle for the Cowl, marketed as a battle among the ex-Robins (Dick, Jason, Tim) and other characters for the right to be the next Batman. Huh?!?
3. And over in Superman, the New Krypton storyline is still ongoing. Zor-El, Kara Zor-El’s dad, is killed, and mommy Allura turns out to be a cold-hearted bitch. Geoff Johns will also be penning a new Superman origin story to be illustrated by the great Gary Frank. The initial annoyance at the prospect of a Supes’ origin being re-written once again immediately dissipates since this is the team of Johns and Frank, who have great respect for my favorite 60’s Silver Age stories. The last origin story, Birthright, was written by Mark Waid around five years ago, and I found it to be quite boring.
4. And over in Wonder Woman, some new monstress Genocide is wreaking havoc. To illustrate what a total monstress she is, Donna Troy is shown in constant panic, Wonder Girl is perpetually crying, Wonder Woman’s gasping dialogues read like vowel-less text-messages, and Red Tornado is destroyed… again! Red Tornado is the writers’ favorite device whenever they want to illustrate how powerful an enemy or how catastrophic an event is. Flesh and bone characters like Batman and Robin will barely get a scratch, but the metallic android tank that is Reddy will get decapitated, smashed, and reduced to junk. This is already getting annoying, since they always devote loooong storylines on how his body gets rebuilt, always with the now-trite undertones of the essence of being human despite the robotic body etc etc ETC!!!
5. Secret Invasion is over! And The Wasp is dead! Obviously, she will be resurrected sometime soon. Or not, since she is not anyone’s favorite, I think. An epilogue issue shows Hank Pym delivering a eulogy, and just when we thought his speech would be a trite celebration of what her life, instead of her death, was like, or a trite, trite, trite, quiet, restrained, pass-me-that-academy-award sobbing, Hank Pym… goes on to blame Iron Man! Great job!!! That’s showing that junkie, Hank!
6. Final Crisis is still… unreadable!
7. Legion of 3 Worlds is still… stuck in part 2!
8. The Outsiders is formally disbanded, which is quite exasperating as the team has just been relaunched last year under the title Batman and the Outsiders. This, of course, is flimsily connected to the death of Batman, and the inability of Batgirl Cassandra Cain to hold the team together. There is now the annoying DC trend to always change the team rosters even before the teams can get their footing. I predict that the Outsiders will finally get totally cancelled, and the latest offerings will, sadly enough, not make me miss the title. My favorite incarnation is still the 2003 relaunch with Nightwing, Arsenal, Jade, Thunder, Shift, Grace, and that blue traitorous robot. That group at least stuck together for a now relatively long 2 years.
9. For some reason I always fail in my attempts to return to the X-Men fold. It’s just getting denser and denser each time, and despite my resolve to try my best there are just way too many new mutants that I can’t gather any interest in.
10. Been reading back issues of JSA written by Goyer and Johns, and they are just great. Particularly, the Princes of Darkness storyline, which may yet rival the Black Reign and Black Vengeance storylines! Johns should definitely write the Justice League of America, which, in 2008, has been quite a dismal failure, with the stories getting shunted to serving bigger storylines or launches, like the recent launching of the Milestone characters. And now, it is being promised that in 2009 the trinity of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman will be leaving the JLA. Again.

Le Generiq Look

Someone recently asked if I’ve somehow worked in a hospital in Cebu, and the proper response to this, of course, is that I’ve never set foot in Cebu. Apparently, there was this resident who looked exactly like me. I have also been asked by someone three years ago if I’ve held clinic in Pampanga. And I’ve been mistaken for two other batchmates more than once. I can attribute this common mistake, of course, to my remarkably unremarkable generic, boring, non-descript look, but on the greater, cosmic side of things, this is a testament… of how many doppelgangers I have. For what nefarious reason that the bounty hunters oozing green blood should copy me, of all people, I have no idea, but for one second they might have thought that I am, ahem, Mulder. I have experienced this first hand. Eight years ago I was watching a movie in a rather empty UP Film Center in Diliman, and out of boredom I looked around and saw someone who looked quite like me. He saw me, and immediately fled. Which was foolhardy, since I didn’t have my stiletto weapon handy with which to puncture the base of his skull anyway. All of this crap about alien bounty hunters and doppelgangers and stiletto weapons that sound pffft and stuff is, of course, a reference to the X-Files episodes that feature the alien bounty hunter which commences in the 2nd season two-parter Colony/Endgame! But back to my Cebu doppelganger: I haven’t even been to Cebu, I told the perplexed intern, but I also have doppelgangers in Pampanga and Bulacan and Diliman and…
“God must have created you all at the same time,” intern said, eyes glowing, voice suddenly booming. “God must have created you all at the same time.”
“Er… indeed,” was all I could say.
How pointless, how egotistical, how totally inconsequential for you to talk about your generic look no one cares about and that you should devote an entire blog entry for this worthless, futile effort, and to use pop-culture references to support a flimsy premise, to revel in the nothingness of it all, to extricate meaning where there is none, no doubt a subconscious yearning to be something more important, when what is represented is nothing more than a group of self-ego-constructs deterred from growing—you gaspingly accuse.
All I can say to this: Yes.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Plummet

I am in charge of Smoketh's romantic life, so it was rather disconcerting that while in the ambulance parking lot (while... facilitating papers for an ambulance conduction)she had this sudden realization:
Smoketh:It just dawned on me that Grass is really such... a grass.
Spider Pig (me): So you're no longer lusting after him?
Smoketh: Less and less each day. If in the scale it was 2 yesterday, now it's... negative 6.
This is alarming, not only because the concept of negative lust is confusing, but more importantly, because it somehow destroys my hopes of seeing five babies getting born smoking a joint. Marabou Stork Nightmare!

Kwashiorkor

The first time we ever had some Kris Kringle of sorts was in Grade 6, and the original plan was to do it weekly. The first theme: something soft. Yes, that was the best we could come up with in grade 6. The plan for the succeeding weeks: something red, something round, something that rhymes with herzegovina, etc. Friday came and we brought out our gifts, and to everyone’s juvenile shock (is there an aged shock?) Borborygmus received a used sanitary napkin. It didn’t smell like blood, in fact it smelled like lipstick. The culprits of course had a good laugh, but not our religion teacher who was livid. She declared that all Kris Kringles were to cease immediately. Someone suggested that instead of gifts maybe we could just exchange letters weekly. Barf, I know, but the nun agreed, satisfied. Until I suggested that for the first week, the theme would be insulting letters. The nun was enraged and almost popped an aneurysm, so no further sanitary napkins or insulting letters got exchanged.
A year before that Borborygmus was believed to have tried to kill himself. He allegedly took in a bunch of diazepams, because he was found slumped unconscious on the ground. Apparently, he was in love with this girl G, who was in love with this boy B. It would have been a simple case of jealousy, except for the fact that Borborygmus was also in love with boy B, who was not in love with anyone. This was all too confusing, hence the diazepams. Of course he got well and all (our HELE teacher force fed him spoons and spoons of sugar), and during recess the next day he elaborated that in his unconscious state he saw Saint Peter who told him that, of course, it was not yet his time. “Does he really have a rooster?” Kwashiorkor asked. “It was a beautiful scene, with St. Peter showing me the error of my ways,” Borborygmus beamed. “Is the rooster fat?” Kwashiorkor asked. And so on. I have no idea where Kwashiorkor, Borborygmus, G, or B are right now, or if they even remember any of this. I hope they don’t.