There's a growing possibility that we may not have kids. But at least we have each other. That gives me some comfort.
On Pain and Pleasure
At the height of a mind-scarring orgasm and in the depths of soul-breaking pain, we have the exact same expression on our faces.
On Love and Sex
Contrary to stereotype, there are men who can't have sex without falling in love.
People thought journalism was being raped by blogging. And then came Twitter.
Ironically: the more decayed a zombie, the less terrifying.
Just because you're not a virgin anymore doesn't mean you have nothing special to offer.
On Writers as Husbands
A married writer is a part-time spouse. Half the time he'll be having an affair with his brain.
On Monday Mornings
Monday mornings are like ninjas. If you see them, it's too late.
A Pox on Your Houses
I've been living in Alabang for over a year now. I must say, I have yet to find something to like in this place. Alabang deserves a plague of Biblical proportions.
On Love and Despair
The deeper the love, the greater the despair.
On Writer’s Block
Five cigarettes later, I still can't think of why nasty old villain has to follow angry young hero to the wastelands.
My noble Quest to get properly smashed keeps getting derailed. The cosmos wants to keep me sober.
We should share our grief, not keep it boxed up like it's a fucking treasure.
I think it's about to rain outside. No matter. It's already raining in my heart.
On the Existence of God
Female ejaculation proves that God exists and he is good.
Even Hitler didn't think he was a villain.
On Human Anatomy
If our dicks grew on our foreheads, we'd learn to accept the size of our organs. You don't see women buying ridiculously expensive hotrods to make up for small tits, do you? That's because tits hang out in plain sight. Sure some women try to make their breasts bigger, either by clever brassiers or surgery, but generally, a woman doesn't lose much sleep over the size of her rack.
Also, if our dicks grew on our foreheads, there would be less sexual crimes. Women will know our intentions right away.
Four in the Morning
Four in the morning is when our demons torment us most.
The real vampires living among us are not those who ridiculously turn into blingblings under bright sunlight. They are those creeps whose happiness is directly proportional to your misery. I know a couple of those myself.
There are two great equalizers now: death and the Internet.
On the Punk Ethos
Tell me what you believe in so I can stop believing in it.
On Misspent Youth
To recapture my misspent youth, I will now practice CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE! Quickly, where are the riot police? I need to get my ass kicked.
On Mall Security
Dear Mall Security Guards: Think about it. If I was going to blow up your mall, I would cut my hair, I would take off my spiked bracelet, I would wipe away the black nail polish, and I would wear office clothes.
Cut quickly and cut clean.
Just like how we laugh at tribal people who blacken their teeth to make themselves beautiful, humans from the future will laugh at how we put bits of silicone in our bodies to make ourselves desirable.
Dear friends: When I die, I don't want anyone playing dirges. I want Guns N Roses' Paradise City cranked up to eleven. With strippers. And cocaine.
What's that? Oh, I'm just packing my bags because I'm going to self-pity land.
On Business Prospects
One day, I have got to go to Cafe Havana in drag. Might catch myself a rich white dude.
I've always had a problem with my emotions. Most of my life, I feel too little of it. Yet when the rare instance occurs that I suddenly feel something, I get irrational and do awful, awful things. Times like this, I wish there was a switch in my brain and in my heart that would make me stop caring.
Bad Little Squid on my shoulder whispers: "It'll feel better when you're angry. Hatred will give you purpose. Diffuse pain by giving some of it back. Stop being a fucking hero." Still waiting for what Good Little Squid on my other shoulder has to say. So far the dude's being quiet.
Stone me in front of the whole village if you want but I have to say it: Pacquiao is the opiate of the masses, a modern version of bread and circuses.
On the CBCP
Dear CBCP: Please take your heads out of your assholes. Thank you.
On Mind Over Matter
Stop telling me that if I put my mind to it, I can do anything. I've been trying to grow superpowers since I was three years old.
On Vampires Again
Jesuscomingoutofmynostrils, vampires aren't supposed to shine in the sunlight like fucking bling blings.
Someone emailed me asking why I became a writer. This is my answer: I started writing because I love stories. Stories are humanity’s emotional spoor. Telling each other stories is humanity’s way of making sense of the dispassionate universe, of comforting each other, of saying that yes, our lives mean something. Heady stuff, these stories. Powerful stuff. Prometheus’ fire stolen from the gods. I wanted to swim in such power, contribute to the group consciousness. Quasi-cosmic stuff like that.
On Eddie Villanueva
Eddie Villanueva says he doesn't believe in the latest SWS survey results that show he's at the bottom of the heap in the presidential race. He also says he'd rather believe in Facebook, which he claims shows him to be in the lead. Just shows how the man wraps his entire campaign scheme on the wrong books.
On Alan Moore
Take away Alan Moore's god-like superpowers in making up mindfucking comic book stories and I'll still forgive him for being the biggest asshole in the universe simply because he doesn't sell out. He writes exactly what he wants to write and how he wants to write it.
On High School
Dear High School Schoolmates: I know our lives in UP Rural High School ended eighteen years ago. I know the things that have happened to you within those eighteen years have shaped you into people greatly different from the ones I've known. But DANG! Whenever I think of you, I still picture you as kids trying to make sense of life during the 80s.
On MMDA “Art”
Those tacky, mass-produced MMDA frescoes of a walking family along EDSA remind me of Han Solo trapped in a slab of carbonite. They're disturbing. But not nearly as disturbing as the silhouettes of what seems to be the same family. Those look like the mysterious shadows of people incinerated in Hiroshima, still there as a grisly reminder of the first time human beings nuked each other.
On High School Again
Isn't it amazing how high school, which ate up only four years of your life, has nevertheless given you complexes and insecurities that would stay with you until you die?
People who make sweeping generalizations are stupid. Wait, did I just--
On Love and Sex Again
Men offer love to get sex. Women consent to sex to find love.
I once knew this guy who spent time in prison for murder. He was a tad... unhinged. Dude said he read every Time magazine he could lay his hands on. Seemed to have stockpiled a wealth of knowledge on every subject imaginable. Problem is, the information got freakishly mixed up in his skull. One time, he ranted for hours about how Islam is a communist religion. I wasn't stupid enough to show him his error.
On the Seven Deadly Sins
Oh look, it seems I commit the Seven Deadly Sins on a regular basis.
On the New Black
Lactose intolerance is the new black.
On Painful Memories
Painful memories are bastards who hide like highwaymen in the labyrinthine whorls of your brain and leap at you when you least expect them.
Okay, here's the deal. ABS-CBN writers are flying off to GMA. Or so they say. GMA writers are flying off to TV5. Or so they say. If TV5 writers are transferring to ABS-CBN, we have a weird clusterfuck going on here!
My nephew finally knows what he wants to be when he grows up: a dinosaur.
You're gravely mistaken, Mr. Anti-Piracy Ad. I WOULD download a car if I could.