Sen. Ramon Revilla, Jr. only wants to protect journalists

If you aren’t aware of the ongoing debate on the Right of Reply Bill, this will probably mean nothing to you.

On the other hand, every opportunity that our politicians take to embarrass themselves is of interest to all freedom-loving Filipinos, so you might as well read on.
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Mon Tulfo really don’t love hoes

You know why Nicole cried rape? Because she was dumped like a pig at a dark corner with her jeans off and the wet condom still on her.

You know why they dumped her? Because she was shouting “I’m not a bitch” after one of Smith’s companions said, “Get rid of your bitch” as the van was nearing the pier where their ship was moored.

Ramon Tulfo, Inquirer columnist and pimp daddy

Goddamn. I fear that some day,  Mon Tulfo will have to choke a bitch.

Xenophobia Begins at Home 5: Koreans


metaphorically kicking your face daily

metaphorically kicking your face daily

Unlike our other Asian neighbors, the Koreans do not have a long history of trading with our ancestors. This is probably because they spent their time being part of China and fending off Japanese invaders for so long. It’s sort of hard to think about trade when you’re facing armadas of samurai and such. The Japanese finally got them eventually and did to them what they did to us in World War II for 35 years or so.

In the ’50s, our Batallion Combat Teams marginally helped them fight off North Korean and Chinese attacks in the aptly-named Korean War. For which they thanked the Philippines by setting up trade and tourism deals with us in the late ’90s.

Since then, millions (billions?) of Koreans have set foot on our shores to evangelize, put up shops and learn English from our college students at P50 pesos an hour. They actually pay much more than that, around P300, but most of it goes to the Korean owners of the language tutorial centers.

What we call them:

Interestingly, because our ancestors lived in a time before there were Koreans (in the country, obviously. They’re not some magical race that suddenly popped into existence,) we’re stuck with just calling them Koreans. Sometimes we call them anyong (from the Korean salutation annyeong), kimchi or jamppong (from the cup noodle ad,) which just proves older generations right: the kids today don’t even try anymore.

What we say about them:

Officially, the Koreans are honored guests, and one of our largest trading partners. With industrial giants like Hanjin Heavy Industries providing jobs and each Korean coughing up money to the Bureau of Immigrations, the government couldn’t be happier.

The informal economy centered around tutorial centers is a steady (if niggardly) source of easy money for our college students. Coupled with the fact that most Korean tutees are the same age as their tutors, a smooth cultural exchange is guaranteed. Also, a smooth exchange of sex for promises of marriage and a wonderful life in Korea, resulting in the yet-unwritten but canonical social realist short story Impeng Koreano.

Unofficialy, though, it’ll be hard to find a Filipino who doesn’t resent Koreans. Noisy, brusque and given to disregarding essential things like respect for a host country’s culture, Koreans either walk around like they are our lords and masters, or ignore us altogether.

They are generally loud, and will think nothing of walking down the middle of the street in packs in the middle of the night chattering away like we don’t need to sleep before showing up to teach them English the next day.

A source in the hotel industry even said that their housekeeping staff would rather clean up after a bumbay than a Korean because they tend to spit everywhere. For a relatively new arrival to our country to overturn a centuries-old stereotype in just ten years is a pretty telling thing, don’t you think?

Why we’re douchebags for saying it:

We’re not, really. Cultural differences, we can chalk up to simple misunderstanding, but ten years into the Filipino-Korean experience and they’re getting ruder by the day. And the worst part is that Koreans, in Korea, are very much like the Japanese: slanty-eyed and very big on courtesy. They’re how Filipinos were if  Zaide’s historical accounts were somehow actually historical: they venerate their elders, they take care not disturb the harmony of others, and put a huge premium on education and cleanliness.

Somehow, when they get to our country, they throw all of that out the window, mixed with some spit, more likely than not. Maybe it’s our fault. Maybe it’s because we’re also impolite and dirty as a culture, and that encourages them to act like goddamned grade school boys on a field trip. Maybe Rizal was right when he wrote “to this country come the dregs of the Peninsula (Korean Peninsula, in this case) and if one arrives a good man, soon he is corrupted in the country.”

Maybe it’s because for the last ten years we’ve let them have their way because of the money they bring. It’s sort of a buy the ticket, take the ride deal, I guess.

On the other hand, maybe they’re just assholes.

Facebook owns you

Triangle! Exclamation Point!

Triangle! Exclamation Point!

Not to alarm you or anything, but if you’re on Facebook, and have posted pictures of yourself, your friends and your family, (so, pretty much all of civilized society,) then you’ve just lost all copyrights to those pictures.

Not that a lot of us will ever be really famous, but that drunk picture of you with the pentel pen boobs is now someone else’s property.

From here:
You are solely responsible for the User Content that you Post on or through the Facebook Service. You hereby grant Facebook an irrevocable, perpetual, non-exclusive, transferable, fully paid, worldwide license (with the right to sublicense) to (a) use, copy, publish, stream, store, retain, publicly perform or display, transmit, scan, reformat, modify, edit, frame, translate, excerpt, adapt, create derivative works and distribute (through multiple tiers), any User Content you (i) Post on or in connection with the Facebook Service or the promotion thereof subject only to your privacy settings or (ii) enable a user to Post, including by offering a Share Link on your website and (b) to use your name, likeness and image for any purpose, including commercial or advertising, each of (a) and (b) on or in connection with the Facebook Service or the promotion thereof. You represent and warrant that you have all rights and permissions to grant the foregoing licenses.

Mi Ultimo Adios in LOLcat, poor taste

Found on the Internet:

Someone actually made a LOLCat translation (I guess) of Gat. Jose Rizal’s “Mi Ultimo Adios.”
It is, ultimately, indistinguishable from the original, which is fine, because you never really read the original anyway.
Credit (and enmity of Filipino Departments everywhere) go to a certain M. Sereno

Kthxbai cheezburger,
U srsly yummeh cheezburger,
Mai shiniez I gif u, tho it no can has teh cheez
N even if it had moar of teh cheez
I wud gif u all dat cheez.

N teh kittehs also gif u der shiniez.
Whar kittehs? Dun carez:
Scratchy place, roll-around place,
Dey r all place for gif teh shiniez.

I go bai nao, omg hi2u sun
N omg bai2u dark,
N omg if u need moar colorsz
I gif u red splashies,
U can has it.

Wen I wuz itty bitty kitteh
N again wen I wuz haf biggr kitteh
I c u in sleepytime, cheezburger,
Yummeh cheezburger,
Full of shiniez and kitteh drugz.

Mai shiniez it can has
For teh win! I sez bai to u cheezburger,
For teh win! I sez bai nao for moar cheez
For u n moar cheezburger yummehz
N for mai wunnerful cheez sodat I can has too.

Wun day if u can seez mai kthxbai place
N windses! N flowersz!
Can has kissumz plz? I can has no can see,
But I can has kissumz!
N cheez!

Shiniez plz moon,
Shiniez plz dawn,
Blow plz windses,
I wants teh birdsies! In mai base
Singings teh songses.

Moar hot plz sun,
Rain plz to cum bak to sky?
N kittehs plz to cwy?
N wen timez wifout noise u pray, cheezburger,
Plz ask Ceiling Cat to gif mi cheez.

Plz ask Ceiling Cat for kittehs hu r ded,
N srsly ded, n omgwtf ded,
N for mommeh kittehs hu cwy,
N kittehs wifout mommehs,
N for cheezburger, dat u can has moar cheez.

N wen kthxbai place iz dark,
Wen ded r loneleh buh not rly,
Dun distewb! Ssshhhh kitteh!
If u hears moozeek
Iz jus mi maekin moozeek for u, cheezburger.

N when kthxbai place u forgots,
Even rockz forgots, no remembers,
Scratch wif big claws, maek messiez
So dat mai kittehdust dun go ‘way
N pwns teh burger on youz.

Den dun carez if I iz forgots,
I pwns ur sky! I r in ur base!
I be moozeek
N shiniez, n cheez,
N meni meows of mai feelingz. U no can see?

Mai cheezburger, hu I wants moar dan moar,
U can has ears plz, kthxbai — I go ‘way
From other kittehs, mommeh and daddeh kittehs, sexeh kittehs,
I go whar can has no doorz on fridgsesz, no lids on foodz,
Wer der is cheez. N moar cheez.

Kthxbai, litter kittehs, kittehs for teh win,
LOL kittehs, WTF kittehs,
Kthx, nao I sleepiez,
Kthxbai kitteh i dun kno, kthxbai shineh kitteh,
Kthxbai all my base. I r ded, I has moar cheez.

The UP Fair: a dying tradition

Don't come any closer!

Don't come any closer!

This weekend marked the one of our State University’s grandest annual traditions, the U.P. Fair (the other tradition, beating the fuck out of neophytes happens year-round,) and as expected, it was again marred by violence and chaos.

Last Friday, fair organizers sold too many tickets and had turn away ticket holders who promptly rioted and tore down the barricades enclosing the fair grounds (another UP Fair tradition.)

Text messages spread soon after warning against “hooligans” (also known as Jumping Jologs, also known as Orcs) who might cause trouble due to their nature of being hooligans.

There was a time when the UP Fair was a venue for students to let loose and discreetly get drunk on school grounds, but each year, it has become more about the outsiders who crash the party or hang around in fucking hordes outside threatening to do same.

Past fairs have featured stabbings, impromptu calls for fraternity members to beef up the anemic U.P. Police keeping out ruffians, and the walls being pulled down by an army of black-clad mayhem-causing punks whose number seems to increase exponentially each year.

Increasingly, the U.P. Fair is becoming less U.P. and less fair.

Manny Pacquiao, Ph.D?

The Southwestern University in Cebu is set to give Manny “Pacman” Pacquiao an honorary doctorate in Human Kinetics for being one of the country’s most bad-ass bad asses.

Apparently, there is currently no doctorate in Kickassery, so they’re going to give him in an advanced degree in sports science.

"That's DOCTORPacquiao to you!"

"That's DOCTOR Pacquiao to you!"

Not to sour grape or anything, but sports science is serious business, and getting a Ph.D in it for being good at sports is not a good idea.

True, doctorates probably don’t amount to much in this country considering that THE Ateneo gave former president Joseph Ejercito Estrada a doctorate in something or other when he was president.

To be fair, THE Ateneo also mobilized its predominantly upper and middle-class studentry to oust him years later, so I guess that sort of makes up for it. Also, never mentioning the doctorate thing ever again.

Still, giving the Pacman a doctorate in sports science for being a good boxer would be like giving that special child in Mercury Rising a doctorate in cryptology. Sure, they’re good at it, but that doesn’t mean that they actually understand the science behind the thing.

This guy

This guy

And really, Southwestern U., how much more of an honor would a Ph.D be for Pacquiao? He’s already the champ, the Pambansang Kamao, the country’s ambassador for peace (or whatever), a GMA Kapuso star, and a winnable congressional candidate. The only thing that could possibly trump all that is to be declared a god. Maybe by one of the the Banahaw Rizalista sects. I mean, he already sort of looks like Jose Rizal.

Attention: Winston smokers

You are about to quit cold turkey.

A reliable source (of cigarettes, at any rate,) told us that the packs of Winston cigarettes you see being sold now are the last packs on the market.

Our source  said that it has something to do with taxes and licensing. Not being savvy on the supply side of cigarettes, she did not bother to elaborate. But the bottom line is, Winston distributors have ceased doing so, causing them to vanish in a puff of smoke and existential angst.

As any serious smoker will tell you, the brand you smoke is like your first love. Chemically hard-wired into your brain, and losing it will pretty much fuck you up.

You can go on living, sure, but you’re left with two basic options: you can try to be nonchalant about it and find a replacement, or you can embrace your loss and eventually end up the sort of person who bores people with stories about what you cooked for the lunch that you eat alone (and is also probably fat.)

Either option involves long hours of crippling melancholy, and sudden breakdowns over the realization that the universe is an absurd and uncaring place. It’s the same with not being able to smoke your brand, except you have the bonus of cottonmouth and the  overwhelming desire to kill.

Fortune Tobacco is planning to replace Winstons with the repackaged Fortune brand. Beloved by farmers and construction workers (and leftists, by extension) for its cheapness, but generally hated for tasting like crap, the new Fortunes are no different, except for the bit about being cheap. Which is, to stretch a metaphor, like replacing your lost love with a cheap druggy slut who dresses well. Except without the sex.