The McVie Show Season 4

AAAAAAAAAARGH!!! FUCK! SHIT! FUCKING SHIT! GODDAMN FUCKING SHIT! AAAAAAAAAARRRGH! DAMMIT! DAMMIT! LECHE! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING DAMMIT SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! DOUBLE SHIT! TRIPLE SHIT! QUADRUPLE SHIT! GOOGLEPLEX SHIT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I witnessed two biological females—one was a pixie Winona Ryder-like girl, the other was Korean, very Sandara Parks—going at it with gusto in the middle of all the faggots in Bed. First Ms. Winona did her best Showgirls impersonation on stage; then Ms. Sandara released her inner Sharon Stone and started seducing any and everybody in sight. Then both of them did their lascivious lesbian act on the dance floor but that’s not why I’m screaming.

One of Cosmo Philippines’ top bachelors danced with me, draped his arms over my shoulders, looked me in the eye and rubbed himself on me. And he was so cute doing it. And another one got a wee bit inggit because of that. But that’s sooo not the reason why I’m screaming. In fact, that incident is almost dismissible.

DAMN! DAMN! FUCKING DAMN! FUCKING SHIT DAMN SHIT! LECHE! LECHE KA! LECHE FLAN! LECHE DE DULCE! AH BASTA LECHE! McTWERP! FUCKING McTWERP! GODDAMN FUCKING McTWERPY TWERP TWERP! CHIRPY CHIRP CHIRP MEETS McTWERPY TWERP TWERP. I HATE IT! I FUCKING HATE IT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

I use to hate bloggers who just rant needlessly in their blogs.

Not anymore.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!
LECHE! LECHE! WHY?! OH WHY?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?

I was screaming myself hoarse inside Orlando on my way home. My throat still hurts because of that. And my cheeks are still smarting from the slaps.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. SHIT.

(Sigh.)

I think I’m gonna crawl under a rock…

…and eat some worms…

…and smash someone’s head with it.

* * * * * * * * * *

I wrote the above entry at around six on Easter Sunday morning. I’m now posting it Sunday evening. Looking back I still feel like knocking myself on the head. But not as hard anymore.

Don’t ask me what that was all about. Shhh! Shut up. Be a good boy. Go, get outta here.

* * * * * * * * * *

I woke up with a dull feeling at around 9am and tried going back to sleep. I ended up speed-rereading Leigh’s copy of “If You Knew Me Will You Still Like Me?” I was skipping chunks of words until about chapter three before tossing the book away. I went out to the living room to read the Sunday paper instead.

Thank god the whole of Easter Sunday was spent with highly distracting people—my family. We celebrated my sister’s birthday in advance because she’ll be in Bacolod on her special day. We ate at A Taste of L.A. in Quezon City. I just looove their ultra thin crust pizzas and their grilled boneless chicken! I brought my mom, aunt, brother and sister there once before for Sunday lunch, and they loved everything we ordered on the menu (you know how it is with families, when everyone gets to taste the others’ orders, especially when trying out a new place?) so my sister decided to hold her birthday lunch there. ATOLA at lunch time on a Sunday is always full—of empty chairs. We were the only ones there until about 1pm, when another family of four entered the place. When we were leaving at past 2, another group entered. Otherwise, we had the whole place mostly to ourselves.

Afternoon was spent at Fitness in Robinson’s Metro East. There I spotted a guy who I always see in F. Well, not really always, but I’ve seen him more than thrice, which by F standards should make us “really close” but NO. He never acknowledges me whether there or even at the gym—in fact he makes it a point to avoid my eyes. Ah ganoon, ha? Rejection ka jan, ha? Leche ka.

So now I’m at Starbucks Katipunan again, finishing up on my requirement needed first thing tomorrow morning. There are no cute boys around again. Thank god for small mercies and work distractions.