Thursday, December 16, 2010

Turn You To Soot

I would like to thank the wonderful now 2nd year residents (yeah!) batch IM-Possible for giving me the opportunity to finally make the speech I've been practicing in my head for years and years on end. I didn't know then what award the speech would be for, but I've been practicing it over and over, thinking it might be for some literary award, or Grammy for Song of the Year for more drama, or even some fun award like getting first place in a Useless X-Files Information quiz bee, or something nasty like Zero Plan Award In Life. Or ano. Yes, my prepared speech is all-encompassing, and I've always visualized myself behind that podium and proudly scanning the weeping and bewildered audience and stuff. It never happened.

When I did win some award and had to speak behind a podium in Shangri-La five years ago I never got to deliver that well-rehearsed speech because of the literary luminaries in front of me, but instead delivered some cliche crap, because really, how could I follow the speech of a guy who just said in front: Ibagsak ang gobyerno!!! To everyone's cheers. Back then Callistus Netromedev told me I should have delivered this speech: To all the Palanca winners here, to all of you established writers with volumes of published books under your belt, to you, to you, and to you: o ano ngayon? I told him I would make the speech next time, but there was never a next time, so they could now gloat.

And so to my delight they gave me the Hyperthermia Award a few days ago. Yes, I am extremely hot I can instantly kill everyone in sight. I am hot. Readers, five minutes to digest that. Or ten hours. Now that you've regained consciousness, read it again: I'm hot. Ya hear that! The hottest. I know, looking like this. This should serve as an inspiration to all troglodytes everywhere, because you can never can tell.

And just in case somebody missed that super important and extremely fun event, let me do my speech again. Imagine me standing from my seat, shaking hands with everyone around me, walking slowly to the podium with tears starting to accumulate in everyone's eyes as the Grammy Song of the Year which I've composed blares in the background. Ready those hankies, ready that orchestra music cue in case my long speech bores you, here goes my speech:

"Thank you. I deserve this."

Tappa Tappa Tappa

Has recently been reprimanded by Papa Smurf in a very un-Smurfy way. You see I've been cheating on this game Smurf's Village. I've always scoffed at those... games like Farmville and stuff, but when I saw JD-Lu's wonderful Valle Verde-level Smurf Village complete with bouquets of flowers and snails and pink worms and picket fences and yellow bridges and bushes after cute fucking bushes, I knew I had to have a village myself! And in the spirit of kainggitan and pure wanton materialism I got got got myself one of those iPod Touch thingies until almost ten of us in the batch has one each. For more. I am so materialistic I now have three bridges over one river, so those cute Smurfs could walk freely and not have to be in file to the point of pixel overlapping all the time. In a way these touch screen gadgets are gross, and someone needs to do a culture swab on them. Just recently everyone in the batch with a unit got sipon, and why not:

Me: Pyro, can I check out your Smurf's Village?
Pyro: Sure, (sniff sniff, pick nose pick nose, tap tap tap on the screen), will just harvest (cough cough, covers mouth, tap tap with the hand used to cover mouth). Here.
Me: Cool! Wow is this sarsaparilla? (tap tap tap)

So back to the reprimand. The Smurf's Village game is the sort where you plant potatoes and kamatis and stuff and wait for hours and hours and hours on end before you could harvest them and stuff. And harvest them on time, or they would die and you would be accused of not watching over them. Sort of like Tamagotchi, with greater responsibilities. JD-Lu would schedule all his activities around the planting and harvesting. Five minutes to grow strawberries, so he would plant strawberries just after he parked his car, walk for five minutes to the wards, and harvest them on time. In the middle of giving advice to a terminal patient I suddenly remembered my potatoes--so I made some cheapy excuse and clicked clicked clicked to harvest in secret. Then I discovered the cheats online, that you could just fastforward your unit's clock and the produces would grow instantly. And suddenly Papa Smurf's pop out message: You're overworking your Smurfs by moving the clock forward. I'm disappointed in you.

Well fall in line, Papa Smurf, you're not the first person to feel that way! When I accidentally kicked my Tae-kwon-do instructor in the crotch back in '96 and he squirmed and writhed and turned red in pain he gasped: I'm.. dis.. appointed in YOU!!! When I told my 2nd year high school music teacher, Sister Something, that I would rather go out of the classroom than sing that crap song, she said, "I'm deez-appointed in you!" I don't give a crap, Papa Smurf, I don't give a crap ya hear?!?!