Your Way Out: Solution in 3 Shades of Awesome
It’s
the big day. You have prepared for the presentation with everything you could arm yourself with: corroborating documentations, related statistical information, facts-facts-and-more-facts, a thumbs up from your immediate boss, a well made powerpoint presentation with graphs and hyper-links, and, most importantly, a good night's sleep. You say to yourself, "
this is it," and that nothing else could possibly go wrong. You propel yourself into the boardroom with more confidence than what most TV personalities have while in front of a camera during an international live airing of the single most will-be watched coverage of something with global relevance and importance.
You wait. Five minutes 'til shake and bake.
Standing in front of your audience, you stare at 10 of top brass executives occupying the highest positions in your company. It is after all a proposal your subsidiary's New York Head Office have taken a liking on the moment you first presented the revolutionarily sound business solution via electronic mail. That's a two-level promotion in the bag once your 30-minute-tops talk is done.
Time flies when you enjoy what you do. Your talk is soon over and you open the floor to Q&A. The AVP for Finance clears his throat and you acknowledge him by nodding in his direction. He mumbles something expected and, God, you are so prepared for it. You formulate the single, best, most eloquent sentence construction of this deal-closing answer you have inside your head. You say, “
Thank you,” followed by a brief pause, preparing your audience for something they would definitely blow their brains out the moment words of refined precision start flowing out and through your authoritative chops.
Then, it happens.
You involuntarily twitch the instant you felt the solid, burning sensation on your testicular area. Something is biting and it doesn’t have plans of stopping any time soon. You have the tendency to scratch but thought better. You can NOT do anything. Instead, you prolong the awkward silence, muster a gasp, bite your inner lower lip to prevent yourself from groaning, all the while fighting a lone solitary tear from rolling off the side of your eye and down your cheek. The discomfort leaves you paralyzed, agitated, and out of focus. Since you can't even brush the side of your palms over your groins to at least alleviate your discomfort, the wretched spawn of the devil keeps on hanging on to biting your nuts like your flesh is some divine manna. You picture it shaking its head in conviction as it chews on you. It then makes a sound of angst and triumph, inaudible to human ears, that when translated could well be "
FOR. THE. QUEEEEEEEN!"
I watch you from the vantage of your audience. Since I know nothing of your sorry predicament, a conclusion shapes itself inside my head. “
This is a waste of my time.”
This scenario is not that far fetched. In fact, it could happen to anybody, either with or without balls, in whatever age, career, or ethnicity. What may seem like a dead end to your smoothness is still redeemable if you follow these simple fail-safe steps.
You politely excuse yourself from your audience by declaring a five-minute rest period as you walk towards your immediate superior. You tell your boss to take over the discussion one minute, should there be any offhand questions from the group, while you run off to get an important file from your work station. You exit, close the door behind you and you rush to the nearest restroom, into the nearest unoccupied cubicle, not wasting any time to unfasten your belt, pants, and boxers with a single yank.
What you do next is up to you but here are several awesome options:
OPTION 1: The-Ordinary-yet-Awesome 
You bend over for a better view of your gems and you take the blasted ant off its reverie using your thumb and index finger, crushing its fragile body in the process. Not done with your revenge yet, you put its lifeless body over the tip of anything handy, like a ballpoint pen. You fish out your trusty lighter and let its bluish torch burn the abomination in front of you. You experience wave upon wave of bliss with every flicker, every burning sound, every manifestation of yellowish ember, and fast eventual charring of the sucker’s fragile armor. All is good.
OPTION 2: Death-by-Death-God Awesome 
You part your jewels to have a better view of the insect’s face. You will know its name, having traded your eyes with that of a Shinigami. You fish out your Death Note. You write its name down while remembering closely how the insect looked like. You then proceed to write down the elaborate “cause of death” you have crafted especially for it and only it within six minutes and forty seconds from the time you have written its name down. You write: it will be tortured in levels far beyond what beings its size would normally bear and undergo and it will die in the hands of another Shinigami’s Zanpaku-To’s Bankai. You then go into the details. Everything will happen within the next 5 minutes. You feel a chill as a paralyzing force suddenly envelopes everything. Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni will arrive. He knows your predicament. He turns you around using nothing but his Reiatsu so he could have a better aim at the insect that’s still attached to your balls. You spin around, bound by something unseen, like a wrestler's grip, only more awesome. Without further ado, he chants "Banshou issai haijin to nase," or “reduce all to ash.” Everything feels weird. You suddenly feel heat all round you that grows in intensity by the second. In one blinding instant, a bright light flashes. Then everything is still. Next thing you know, the ant has burnt and charred together with a few of the tips of your wiry genital hair. The old man disappears and leaves you panting from unease. With only the smell of burnt pubes in the air, you become thankful and realize that all is still good.
OPTION 3: Help-from-Powerful-Women Awesome 
You wait until midnight. You wait for the right time because the awesomest of revenge is never rushed. You go online and search for Hell Girl’s site. Once there, you type in the name “Antoine,” or “Ant1” in ant-spell, in the site’s only blank field. Over it are the words, “we will exact your revenge.” A few moments later, Enma Ai appears and gives you a straw doll with a red string. She gives you a warning in her emotionless voice and expression, “Beware, two graves are dug when one seeks revenge.” What she means is she will take the victim’s soul to Hell if you agree that she will have to take yours, too, when you die. Blah, you pull the string anyway and the wheel of revenge starts to spin by the weaving of the gracious Enma Ai as she re-appears in front of your balls in the smallest of her imaginable form and says to the ant, “ippen shindemiru?” She goes into the victim’s mind, reminds it of its inhumane acts, and then Ran (Texhnolyze), Major Motoko Kusanagi (GITS), Flower Maiden (Wolf’s Rain), Dita (Chobits), Kagero (Basilisk), and Otonashi Saya (Blood+) suddenly appear from nowhere. They each hold on to an arm of the insect and they pull them out at the same time. With a shrill chorus of uproarus banter, the women disappear with a tiny limb each. Next, an army of dust mites swarm at the remains of the still living insect. Hell’s dust mites. A thousand times more vicious than the earthly dust mite. They bite and inject excruciating pain with a mere touch. In the end, Enma Ai takes the soul of the insect on a ferry to the gates of hell. She leaves you with a flame tattoo on your chest. Her mark of damnation.
You will not be awesome until the next day, but all is still good.
Which soever way you choose, it ends the same way.
You flick the unrecognizable remains of the lifeless bastard in the toilet. You flush it. As the water swirls in
Orinoco waves, you spit on it while muttering a triple bad karma inducing curse. Only then will you have finally avenged the future generations your loins will breed.
You massage your now-swollen sac and fix yourself, breathing normally now, albeit still uncomfortable. Somebody walks in the john to find you washing your face from the sink faucet and asks, “
everything OK?” You answer with a mutter that sure sounded like, "
Ass.”
He will walk towards the urinals as you exit the restroom. He will fish his member out of his pants and catch a whiff of something burnt in the air. Like the heady smell of smegma that he will only later that same day's night realize as his per his wife's nagging remark of disgust. He will wrinkle his nose and pay it no mind in a few seconds. After all, the long day ahead lined up with board meetings is at the top of his worries.
You regain your composure like a stud who just claimed a harem of 14 deprived concubines as you re-enter the boardroom.
You will rock. You will kick ass. You will succeed.
And you will have me to thank for it.
Bitch.
Labels: Anime, Humor, Man-Blog, Vertigo
How many guys in Spider-Man suits can fit inside a Jamba Juice
Whodathunk that Jack TV airs up-to-date episodes of The Late Show with David Letterman? I was lazily waiting for Mr. sandman to visit late last night when I happened upon the channel. Dave was drinking a Jamba Juice smoothie off a venti-sized cup, sorry Starbucks, that led him to show the facade of the store across the street from theater where they shoot the show in. Then popped the question, "How many guys in Spider-Man suits can fit inside a Jamba Juice?" One, Spidey. Two. Then three. And then I lost count.
An otherwise quiet night turned riotous as I LOLed and shed LOL-tears, in exaggerated excess, moreso when they sent in Fatty-Spidey. Watch until the clincher ending.
Originally here via YouTube.
Read about the full episode here from CBS.
. Labels: Humor, Plugs, TV
The ultimate superpower you'd wanna have
Zhan: I think I'd have the power of telekinesis and flight because those two powers are not that common, really.
Fritz (think): not THAT common? watda?!?!
Fritz: Mine would be just one: glossolalia.
Zhan: How does that manifest?
Fritz: It's like when I speak, my audience hears me in the language they are accustomed to. If I have a French, a German, a native Cebuano in front of me, they all hear me in their native tongue simultaneously.
Zhan: awesoooooommmmeeee! That beats telekinesis anytime!
Fritz: That means I could talk to the roaches in my flat to leave the house before I spray insecticide. Give them a warning of sorts because I don't like killing things including insects. That means I don't have to sweep away upturned carcasses the morning after. Also, I'd go and convince dust mites to leave my mattress unless they want their colony annihilated. The bug-free home I call Utopia. And...
Zhan: zzzzz.... *snort*
--------------------------Right about now, six months after the dialogue above, I want a second power. I want to induce diarrhea to anyone at will. The victim would experience the whole package accompanying this very uncomfortable fit. Abdominal pain, weakness of the limbs, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, unease. The works.
Let's say someone like a very annoying
fuckface goes to me at work and says:
Fuckface: You mean to say that the Notary Public requires the affiant to be
present when they notarize the document?
Fritz: Yes.
Fuckface: When did this new rule suddenly come into play?!
Fritz: I believe it had always been the case. If everyone would follow the "present" clause in the legal document then everyone is required to appear personally to the Notary Public.
Fuckface: I had never appeared in from of a Notary Public my entire life! Maybe they do not want to earn easy cash.
Fritz (think): Screw you assholic, muthafucking cunt-face! If I weren't wearing this goody-facade and shit, I'd be hurling your ass out of this building through my window, you sarcastic stupid punk! You make me wanna puke!
Fritz (say): Probably... and sorry for the inconvenience.
Had I had the diarrhea-inducing power, the scenario would have happened this way:
Enter FuckFace, stage right...
Fuckface: You mean to say that...
Fritz (think): Di-ar-rhe-a-sis-bum-ba!
Fuckface: awwwooooohhhh... that hurts...
Fritz (say): ...
The stress-free work place is suddenly rid of assholes, albeit momentarily.
This power could be as complex depending on your targets. Have it a go with daredevils on the highway, passengers in the
jeepney or
FX who just couldn't shut up their trap, stalkers, office posers, annoying politicians while they're on stage during
pre-election, sleazy bystanders, stupid traffic enforcers, dumb TV personalities, your neighbor's pet that just shat on your front door, and know-it-
alls who really know nothing at all. The list could go on and on and on. Add to it. Feel free.
Life is good again.
.Labels: Humor
Carols hypnotize! Cover your ears!
Halloween is the best time of the year. Period.
In Christmas, I only get to become Saint Nick. Not that everybody isn't Saint Nick with or without the jiggly red satin wrapped belly, the unruly beard, and the inevitable hoe-hoe-hoe-camel-toe spill. It's a fact: we all get under the hypnotic spiel of the sadly sang carols, the repetitive and characteristically poorly-constructed rhyming lines, the plight of its long-dead characters, of giving unless you want to be left out since it is after all a season of giving and only giving. Not just taking as taking does not count. Giving! So give!
Give for your chakras to pulsate, for your hair to naturally flow, for your scalp to not have dandruff for all eternity, for you to have a great career in front of you despite you screwing up your previous 17, for your babies to grow up within the path of the just, for you to not grow bald at earlier than 60, for you to still get a raging hard-on at 70 by natural means, and for you to sustain it for more than 2 hours if need be.
It's the season for your folly, um, or was it fanny, or did that go like, um, sex... nevermind!
The songs. The carols. They're the real culprit. Their real message reverberate at a low frequency, not noticeable to most human auditory senses, saying buy all the crappy little paper caddies, paper-clip dispensers, coffee mugs, coaster sets, magnets, pens, photo frames, this-book-belongs-to-the-library-of-blank stickers, 3-for-P100 hankies, lighters, note-pads, personal pocket diaries, mouse pads, fancy earrings, yada, yackity-yack, yada. And yes, your peers might not even use them but it IS the season of giving. The carols do not whisper give something meaningful and close to your heart and something which you think they would actually need! No. It merely said give. So give we'll do.
We do it year in and out. In a vicious cycle we can't seem to get our asses off from. We do it because the carols say so! Believe me! The next time you go into a store and start hearing some in-or-outro to a supposed subliminal song, hum a track, say a rock song, or, if you are keen enough, fish out those mp3 player earphones from your pockets and crank up the volume to anything at all! Even those lame emo songs! Anything to keep those waves from planting seeds of purchase-inducing thoughts into your pitiful mind!
Trust me on this. For the love of everything you consider to be true and of pure intentions. Do. Not. Listen. To. The. Carols.
Period.
Labels: Humor, Opinions, Vertigo
Girls in the office and me
This conversation just happened. Everything is presented "as is." As a backgrounder, this girl is heart broken. I had asked her out for lunch early that day but something came up:
Girl 1: HARI NG KAGALINGAN... the "ex" just asked me to lunch.
Fritz: Whoa! Grab it! Dali!
Girl 1: YOKO NGA! Eh di hindi naman kita maka-date! hahahahahaha! promiscuous itoh!
Fritz: Kaw bahala, pero suggestion ko eh you let him have the chance. Pero expect less.
Girl 1: Don't expect at all. He could've asked me for dinner. Eh lunch daw eh. Hmph. Kinuripot na ako.
Fritz: Pag hindi kayo eh lunch lang kasi back to a regular colleague ang status mo!
Girl 1: Ganun ba un?! kasama ba yan sa C-policy?!
Fritz: Yep, sa Commitment-policy kasama yan. Ni-ratify sa isang part ng nakasulat sa Vienna Convention noong May 22, 1969 and later on strengthened by a detailed two-paragraph article sa Charter of Paris noong November 21, 1990.
Girl 1: naks! napaka-believable! grabe!
Fritz: Ganyan pag magpre-present ng argument. Supported by facts! Vienna Convention was started in May 22, signed on the 23rd, and was put into force on January 27, 1980. Wag mo na itanong kung bakit ang haba ng panahon before sya mai-enforce. May gap-filling and clarifications kasing naganap kasi international treaty sya. In any case, covered ka kasi nangyari kayo ngayun taon and hindi pa na-lift or na-revise ang mga nakasulat sa mga ito!
Girl 1: kasamba-samba ka talaga! IDOL!
Fritz: Naku, wag po. Isa lang akong hamak na writer-genius disguised as some accountant. I don't deserve, nor do I solicit, praises.
Girl 1: SINONG NILOKO MO?? If I'm correct, I'm sure you bask in other people's praises and high regard for you! Hhaaaahhhhaaayyyyy....
Fritz: Let me tell you something that happened recently. Isang beses habang dumadaan ako sa area ni Girl 2, nahuli ko syang nakatingin sa akin habang naglalakad ako.
Fritz: Bakit?!
Girl 2: Bakit ano?
Fritz: Bat ganun tingin mo sa akin?
Girl 2: Wala no! Bakit? Parang ano ba ang dating sayo ng tingin ko?!
Fritz: Yung tingin mo parang pupurihin mo nanaman ako!
Girl 2: Ganun naman pakiramdam mo sa tingin ng lahat ng tao sayo!
Fritz: Minsan lang.
Girl 1: NYETA! Nakakainis!
Labels: Humor, Vertigo
From diamonds to Project Utopia
Pictures of a supposed diamond-studded Mercedes Benz had been going around a while now. The email I got claims it to be the umpteenth car of Saudi Prince Waleed.
With Serena's signature for the Man Blog forums auto-rewinding and manifesting itself in my mind like those neon signs along Burgos Street in Makati (quoting the quote, it goes, "Some people get so rich they lose all respect for humanity. That's how rich I want to be. --- Rita Rudner,"), the following exchange happened between me and an officemate:
Midori X: Here, would owning this take you up to the wealth-level where you supposedly "lose all respect for humanity?"
Fritz: Maybe! But if I should become that rich, I'd be low key. I would not need to sport a diamond-studded car to announce it. Ever. Besides, it's already been done. I'll have for myself crystal-blue colored, diamond corneas. My irises, black diamonds. All diamonds must pass the clarity test with a perfect rating. That's internally flawless (IF) under 100x magnification, instead of the usual 10x. The operation would first have to be 100% viable, tested, and safe so I may still see with the 20/20 I have now. That length I'd have to go through just to get to feel how to see behind ultra-expensive eyes. Priceless.
Midori X: Holy guacul... guacum... guacomol... uhm... Holy avocados! Now, THAT is loaded! The stuff you could think of when you get to be filthy rich!
Fritz: I have already outlined what it is I would do with that kind of money: I'll make a fully-functional prototype of a Utopian City, scale 1:1, where its inhabitants live perfectly free of poverty, war, hunger, and the commonly corrupted democratic form of government. The experience will be rendered to the visitor in virtual-realistic hologram sequences. It will, beyond a feather of doubt, be a major tourist destination from day one of its initial opening. Spectators or visitors could walk around made-up streets and gaze at the most amazing of architecture constructed over a 10,000-acre lot poised in the midst of a barren land like the Sahara or Gobi Desert, where weather condition will be closely monitored and controlled. Details on culture and language will also be reflected in the way the made-up population of the city behaves and interacts (Absent-mindedly bump a virtual-reality rendered Utopian national and they say "sorry"). Visitors may take as long as they want inside the controlled environment as real lodgings are provided in a hotel-structure sitting at the center of the perfect city (hotel prices quoted separately from entrance fee to Utopia). What may seem to be undirected events within the city will be povided by an intricate web of programs generating sequences of random instances where probability of several occurences ever happening in concurrence is marginally infinitesimal (mathematically translated to come close to a ratio of 1 to a googleplex raised to a googleplex). A reset will be done after a period of exactly 5 years. A partition of the venue would be donated to science where experimets will be done on aetherlike-near-human subjects mimicing life. An alien-invasion will occur on the fifth year before the entire program is reset. Science-donated partition will not be affected by alien-invasion. Visa restrictions may apply when required by the destination country where Utopia is from the national of an originating country.
Midori X: I just have to say, veering away from your Quixote dream sequence, that that quote is so positive in all its sarcastic glory. I so agree.
Since I'm only making this thing up, I took it upon myself to explode my dream big time.
Labels: Humor, Vertigo
