I like how I'm constasntly trying to envision my fcukhead neighbors eating their own shit. Same goes to their kids. I never cared much about my neighbors. Now I care even less. They make me miserable and they deserve to eat their own shit. I hate how this happened----> I used to believe in St. Anthony and these fcukers...they gave me a Groundhog day practicail joke that my Mama didn't even get to notice because she was tanked with her pseudo-leprosy meds. I'm actually really very terrified of this group that could attempt murder. Tried to murder my Mama with that illness of hers. I'm not ever going to say or to think that it wasn't some g*d daom miracle that cured her. Sino ako? Si Nora Aunor?  Maderpaker. Nag-aral sa UA&P at sa Ateneo para lang magpaka-Nora Aunor. Tae niyo naman eh. O, huwag niyong sabihin na hindi kayo tumatae. Kung hindi kayo tumatae eh di kayo ang E.T. hindi ako. pwe. shit man...this really sucks dude. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That the girl is still unconscious worries him much. It’s a spacious bungalow, large as a mansion, that he’s in, built within the vicinity of a private Manila village. It’s a modern estate owned by a parliament member. He has not seen the room for him, but W.K. doesn’t really sleep. He takes naps, just like a cat. A nap is as good a rest, as any other sleep. It’s a familiar line of his, whenever he’s feeling particularly sharp or witty. W.K. doesn’t wonder where Tick might be.

 

‘Hey, W.K. * I’ll be having a movie at the home theater.* Don’t you bother me with your crazed ninja noises. And, call me before you do any kung fu on the girl, ok?* You doing kung fu is better than a movie.* CAPE-PAO* WOW WOW WOW. That’s so cool, ya.* Catch you later, Mr. K. Buh bye.’

 

This was the last that he’s heard from Tick, and from over four hours ago. W.K. didn’t do ninja. He didn’t do kung fu, either. W.K. is an intelligence agent, who could do almost anything that he’d like to do, with a yard of string. W.K. can pick a lock with a piece of string, kill a man with a piece of string, or even skin a rabbit with some string. Just string. This is all he needs and all he will ever be needing. Tick thinks it’s kung fu that W.K. is good at because sub-agent Tick has watched W.K. catch bullets with a knotted string.

 

This was 2 years ago, and it was the one occasion when Charles had to fight off bullets. The one occasion when W.K.’s opponents actually had the proper amount of stupidity that’s usually required in an armed fight, as a kind of skill.

 

‘You know, only a skilled idiot will use a gun.’, said W.K. He knots a yard of black string from his sock. The knot isn’t a full knot. It shouldn’t be. It’s how W.K. catches bullets.

 

W.K. knots a yard of black string from his sock, and the knot is not a complete knot. Then, swift as you’d have The Flash end a comic book with lightning, W.K. collects bullets with his string, amidst a backdrop of tall trees and what looks like a wilderness of monkeys. Backdrop’s set in just the farthest fishing village, built on the edge of a nameless island.

One thing’s for sure, though: W.K.’s in Sabah. He can’t believe that he’s doing this because he has to save Tick’s life. If you ask W.K., the world’s a better place without young men like Tick.

 

But Tick, who was only 18 years of age at the time, has just found out that his wife has given birth to a baby girl, in Ampang. He’s in a net, with a host of silver gray monkeys to keep him company, and he’s sobbing like child. The net’s hanging from a tree that’s standing on a cliff.

 

‘Save me, Mr. K. Please save me. I’m a daddy boy now. Save me W.K. or I’ll kilya. My god.I swear, I’ll kilya myself.  * * * * *’ Tick declares, in between sobs.

 

So W.K. captures bullets until there aren’t any left for him to catch. The other side has run out. These things are too predictable for W.K. He rests by the trunk of a large rubber tree, catching his breath. He looks at his hands, checks if his manicure has been ruined. All nails still have their full coats of clear varnish, Nangyat would be pleased. (Nangyat always beams with pride when Tick talks about this day.) W.K. waits for his opponents to surrender. He doesn’t wait long.

 

The five men who kidnapped Tick, demanding a large ransom for W.K.’s side kick cum assistant, come running from the woods. W.K. quickly gets into a martial arts fighting position. He’s prepared for, and expecting a battle. The men stop running. They’re not far from where W.K. is positioned. They momentarily ignore W.K, and his prepared-for-battle stance.

 

The men, wearing battle fatigues and strings of garlic around their necks, lay their firearms in front of W.K. Then they turn away from W.K. They utter some prayers to Allah. When they’re done with their prayers, they turn to face W.K. again. W.K. is unsure of what’s happening.

 

Then the men’s faces light up in big and rather toothless grins. They rush towards W.K. and start to grab both of his hands for handshakes. All 5 of them, they keep shaking his hands in a congratulatory manner.

 

‘We surrender, ok? But well done. Well done. You’re very good. Very, very, good. It’s an honor to be captured by one such as you. How do you do that? How did you do this? We surrender. We surrender. Very good. You’re very, very good. By the way, what is your name?’

 

The men utter different combinations of these lines, but these lines are what they have to say. You can almost imagine what these lines, from these men, were doing to W.K.’s infamous temper. W.K. wanted to beat them up, after the race that they’d just given him. He wanted to pull a net over each of these 5 fellows, string all their eyelashes together –W.K. can be very dark and very morbid, at times-, and give them an alligator each, for company. He’d like to take them all to a lake and sink them. The nets, the 5 men, the alligators.

 

But, W.K. sees that the sun is about to set. He’d like to have a bowl of hot, steaming congee and shrimp. He’s hungry, and he doesn’t like how his lavender colored, silk shirt  from Italy, has been torn near an armpit. He doesn’t like how he smells of monkeys and  of fish.

 

W.K. asks the kidnappers to sit still. They obey him. They’re all very quiet and still as he calls the police. The SWAT team will be coming from KL. He goes to where Tick is hanging. W.K. opens the net and takes out the monkeys. He closes the net. He leaves Tick inside.

 

‘Mr. K! Don’t leave me here. I’d like to see my girls.’, shouts Tick, with a hoarse voice.

 

‘ Sorry, dear Tick, but you can’t pay for my shirt. Congratulations, lovely that you could make a baby girl. Oh and yes, you threatened to kill me. I trust that you’ll be using the time in that net, Daddy-yo, to feel some remorse over it, ya.’  

 

W.K. walks towards the speedboat that’s anchored nearest to the shore. He thinks about the bowl of congee that’s waiting for him. He boards the boat in a leaping stride, and drives away from Sabah. The kidnappers wave their goodbyes at W.K.. They’re all in a net. The net’s hanging from Tick’s tree, and Tick’s not pleased but what can he do?

 

Sometimes, W.K. says certain things and does certain things which can make any person certain of one thing about him. W.K.’s a really cool guy.

 

(to be continued)

 

That the girl is still unconscious worries him much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

W.K. prepares to carry the thief away from the lot, with him. He plans to hoist her over one of his shoulders. The man isn’t a brawny fellow, but he’s some macho man. Lots of lean muscle, W.K. has. Lots.

 

He’s able to lift the girl like a guy would lift many logs. W.K. turns slowly- the unconscious thief is quite heavy- and he’s facing the entrance of the parking area. W.K. takes a deep breath. W.K. almost drops the girl he’s carrying because suddenly there’s a car in front of him, its bright headlights blazing like lighthouses.

 

W.K. gets this familiar feeling: Caution. Epic Migraine Approaching. Run For Your Life, W.K. You know you never like it. Take the girl and run, please. Run, now. Run ‘cause it’s…

 

W.K.’s ominous feeling ends abruptly. The car’s driver steps out, headlights like lighthouses, still on. Left to blaze so brightly. No, the person who has come from the car isn’t another agent, he’s someone else. He’s some other guy, and he has quite the voice on him.

 

 

‘WAH* W.K*. ! WHAT DO  YOU HAVE THERE*? A GIRL*, I SEE*. W.K.’s GOT A GIRL*. WOW WOW WOW*.GREAT FUN I’LL HAVE WITH DEAR W.K.* IN* THIS R.P. PLACE* WOW WOW WOW*.LET’S* HAVE A LOOK-SEE ATCHER* WOW WOW WOW* WOW WOW WOW*.’ This is in the booming voice of the fellow from the car.

 

(W.K. means Wayang Kulit. It is a pet name. Charles Su is also known as the player. Shadow Chaser. But it was the other way around. Charles had a shadow, a side-kick cum assistant. Believe it or not, W.K.’s assistant goes by the alias of Tick. T*I*C*K)

 

‘What? And you’re here? Tick, beat it. I don’t need you. Go away.’ , W.K. tells the voice.

 

‘GO*AWAY*? NO WAY*.  I need the extra Gs*. What are you going to do, W.K. * Fly from here*? You can’t because your underwear’s inside your pants, ya *.

 

‘*’ was a tic on T*I*C*K. A speech mannerism. ‘*’ was a sound that he made, to accentuate his words. ‘*’ sounded like ‘tsk’, or some beat box tune. Mr. Tick has only the worst kinds of jokes on him. Worst kinds of jokes to his name. He was a 20 year old boy from Ampang. Tick’s a reminder for W.K. He’s who WK would have been if the projects hadn’t cured WK.

 

Just then, W.K. wanted to punch his side-kick cum assistant, but decided against doing so. It has been mentioned that W.K. is a very vain man; he didn’t want to hurt his hands.

 

‘What’s* the *matter*, W.K.*? I  know you’d like to punch me, Mr. W.K.*. You can’t* because 1* you got a girl* and 2* underwear’s still inside the pants*. Come on,. W.K.* F.E. gave us a hot car for Tick here to drive*. Go zoom-zoom* you get?* Come on,. W.K.* Bring watch’u have there, and let your Tick take you for nice zoom ride to headquarts, ya?*’

 

‘It’s headquarters, Tick. (.)You’re an idiot, do you know? Ah you. A thick brained Ampang idiot. (.) Full bodied with the most appalling flavors._ Loathe to think what they are, really(.) _ _ _ _ _  So, where is that, exactly?’

 

(.) and _ bring you huff-puff and groan, respectively. (.) and _ from W.K. as he carried the girl into the car, gently placing her on the backseat. She’s still unconscious and this worries W.K. some.

 

Tick looks at W.K. who’s seated to the right of the driver’s seat.

 

‘ Shaddup, Mr. K. REEE-LAX*, ya?* Leave it to Tick. * Look, W.K.* Check out the sound* Wow wow wow. We go zoom-zoom now, ya.* Hang on, Mr. K.*  This Ampang idiot feels like some wings on a zoom-zoom.* Are you ready? * * *’

 

W.K. answers his side-kick cum assistant. “Ya. Sure. Go.”

 

‘Ya? Oh-key, Mr. K.* But, check out the sound* ok?*’

 

Tick revs up the engine and spins the car ‘round, a truly awful kind of 360 degree spin, so truly awful that W.K. has to hold on to the rolled down window, his side of the car. 

 

‘What the hell, Tick?’,  he asks Tick, with much feeling.

 

Questions like this one always go without answers, especially when for someone like Tick, who is driving a cool, black, elegant convertible, with its top down, and it’s got powerful stereo speakers playing the thud-thump- honk- donk psychedelic melody and words of “I’ve never met a girl like you before”. And Tick just can’t help himself. 

 

The 20 year old, who’s a thin boy wearing Nikes, long  denim shorts, and what seems to be just the largest orange T-shirt with the label ‘Abercrombie’ in bold print on it, speaks while the pimples on his face jiggle to the sonic bass beats of the thud-thump-honk-donk Edwyn Collins chart topping pop song.

 

Here’s what he tells W.K, ‘ I Looooooooove Manila, Don’t You Mr. K?* * * Well, Don’t You?’ .

 

W.K. shakes his head, doesn’t answer Tick. 

 

‘What is it? Has the world gone poorah, and I wasn’t informed?’ he quietly states.

 

Feeling rather tired, he’s had a long day, W.K. closes his eyes and takes a nap.

 

* * * * *

 

Baliw Pagkat Mahal Kita

Sa himig ng I’m a Fool to Want You

 

Ni Rose Francess S. Raymundo

 

 

 Tuliro ang isip, dahil sa pag-ibig.

Mapaglarong pagi-big mo

ang nais at kailangan ko

 

Nabaliw na yata. dahil sa pag-ibig

Inaangkin ko ang halik mong

Hatid ay langit ng demonyo

 

 

Ilang ulit na kitang iniwan

At ikaw ay aking nasaktan

 

'Pag bumabalik at ika’y kailangan

Binibigkas ko ang damdamin ko

 

:

Mahal ko, patawad.

Sa 'kin ay maawa.

 

Ako’y mali.Kahit mali.

Mahal kita.Ikaw lamang ang,

Buhay ko.

 

I'm a Fool to Want You

written by Frank Sinatra, Jack Wolf, Joel Herron

 

I'm a fool to want you

I'm a fool to want you

To want a love that can't be true

A love that's there for others to

 

I'm a fool to hold you

Such a fool to hold you

To seek a kiss, not mine alone

To share a kiss the devil has known

 

Time and time again, I said I'd leave you

Time and time again, I went away

But then would come the time when I would need you

 

Take me back, I love you

Pity me, I need you

I know it's wrong it must be wrong

But right or wrong I can't get along

Without you.

 

 

  Gusto ko rin ang awit na ito. Ang gusto kong version ay yung kay Bernadette Peters na napanood ko sa You Tube noong isang taon. At dahil hindi parin ako tinitigilan ng higanteng insekto, pati na rin ng mga kaibigan ni Gg. Sir Higanteng Insekto o di kaya'y ni Ginang Mrs. Higanteng Insekto o ni Bb. Ms. Higanteng Insekto (pwe, by the way/ dahil kung isa ka ring Bb. Miss na katulad ko ay wala kang karapatan na manggulo dahil pareho lang tayong....Bb. Miss.Yun nga lang, hindi ako kahit anong klaseng (uri?) ng insekto o peste sa buhay ng sino man....at hindi ako mahilig sa aso o ibon. tse. Shoo! go away. )

 

Mang-iimbento sana ako ng salita pero pati si Mr. Dell ay kasama yata sa kampo ng dambuhalang insekto at ang mga kampon nito.  Nasa mood pa naman ako na mag-imbento ng mga salita sa Filipino. 'Wag na nga. Hay buhay.

 

Idadagdag ko nalang ito: uulitin ko...aawit lamang ako kapag ako'y may kasamang ka-date na mamang kulot ang buhok, naka-salamin, mahilig magpa-iyak ng mga Bb. Miss Raymundo, matanda sa akin ng halos sampung taon, hindi Pilipino, mahilig mag shoulder bag, yung 'nak ng tokwang matandang binata na pakipot at ako pa ang pinapahabol sa kanya, yung may pagka-bobo yatang mokong na pati na ang buwan, tuwing kabilugan nito, ay nagalit at naiinis na sa mokong dahil matagal-tagal na rin akong hindi napagbibigyan sa aking kaisa-isang konsuelo de katuray na full moon night lab / pag-ibig eklat..., yung may kasalanan kung bakit magiging matandang dalaga na talaga ang inyong abang lingkod, yung gusto ko minsang sampalin, tadyakan, suntukin sa tiyan, make pingot-pingot the magkabilang tenga at sabunutan...yakapin, halikan, iyakan, sulatan, lutuan, pagsilbihan, awitan, kuwentuhan, tugtugan, alayan ng nobela, gawan ng tula, ipinta, tuluyang isilid sa kahon at ipa-swim swim sa katubigan ng walang-hanggang nakaraan (sabay ganoon eh...at hhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooooooooopsssssssssssssssss ...HEY!..no copying of my artful kalokohan...este kajologans, no...it's all kabakyaan...kay Bb. Miss Rose Francess Raymundo, as usual, ang mga linyang iyan..scram giant insect...scram) at siya ay ang aking Ginoong. Sir Iniibig na mahilig maglaro ng kahoy na manyika sa isang lugar sa Malaysia, at dati ko pa siya nakilala. O, huwag niyong sasabihin na hindi ako nagbigay ng detalyadong pagsasalarawan ng kung sino ang natatanging at kaisa-isang Ginoong Sir Iniibig ko...na papalakpak at mangingiyak-ngiyak sa katatawa dahil nagpaka-dalubhasa nanaman ako sa pagbibigay aliw, tulong ng katatawanan at todong disintonadong subok sa larangan ng KTV kantahan at romantic na pagmamahalang mauuuwi lang  rin naman ...as always...( what's new? and what else?) sa 'la lang. Pero, sana,dahil gusto ko rin namang lumigaya, ay huwag naman. Please. Huwag naman.

 

(My Love Life. AHEM! and bow. Eye... tengk chu. )

 

 

bwisit. todos los St. Tos nanaman...