Filipino Mongrels, Boredom Kills, Fake Goods, Drunk Dialing

Filipino Mongrel Wannabes

I am sick and tired of seeing all these minimum wager plebs who claim they are "mixed raced" or "half chinese, half spanish *and* half thisandthat" (that's right. 3 HALVES. *rolls eyes*) when in reality they are no different from someone from Abra... or Sorsogon... or Bicol... or insert_any_random_rural_place_in_the_philippines_here.

Fucking mongrel-wannabes. Stupid fucking idiots who don't have any clue whatsoever about being 'mixed race'. It's so typical here in the Philippines to claim they're "half-Spanish" just to glamourize their profiles and such.

Just because your grandmother's aunt's cousin's grandfather's mother's grandmother's grandfather married a colonial Spanish person back in the dark ages doesn't make you "half-Spanish". Take a look at THIS delusional mother fucker who thinks he's mixed raced.

Bah!

Half bull dog, half shit most likely.

If you're a snot-colored passport (well, it's green) carrying Filipino who was born, bred, raised in the Philippines after being conceived using a brown cock and a brown vagina then I'm 100% sure you're Asian. Heck, you can even be Asian despite being conceived using a yellow cock and a yellow vagina.

Yeah. Mixed race my fucking asshole.

Just a friendly Asian pride reminder from someone who used to be a card-carrying member of the Ku Klux Klan.

Boredom Kills

My life can't be any more pathetic than... now.

Friggin 5:40PM, here on the living room floor with my laptop, watching some tennis game on Star Sports with Rafael Nadal on it.

He may not have the best face out there but he's got an alright body, especially his arms. Every time he hits the ball with that racquet, I just can't remove my eyes from em.I mean, they're just so... erm... huge! I know what you're thinking - cut it right there - I know I've said I hate muscle marys but there are some exceptions you know.

Gosh, even people from Zimbabwe (oh yes) are talking about me.

I really need a new hobby... now that the rainy season is here to stay for the next couple of months. The sky has constantly been gray and I have never felt sooo domesticated in my life.

Frankly, I'm already getting sick of burning cash all the time. It's all fun and done in the name of hedonistic bliss, but it's sort of getting tedious now.

There's gotta be something genuinely INTERESTING *and* FUN out there that I can do at my spare time.

Let's face it, shopping IS fun but it only lasts until ya bring your loot back home and use it. Clubbing IS fun until ya get back home and wake up with a fuckin hangover. Eating out IS fun until ya get back home and drop the undigested kids at the toilet bowl.

I need a breakthrough... a major achievement. Something that will validate my sheer existence. Something I can be proud of. Something where the "fun factor" lasts for a long time, rather than a couple of hours.

Told ya not to buy fake goods

I wonder who the hell was that Filipina woman who got fined for buying fake sunglasses. I wonder if that person is part of the Nievera twins (as mentioned at Kitty Go's book, When Chic Hits the Fan). Hahahahaha!

Told you kids - do not buy fake designer items. Karma will always get to you one way or another. There will always be that someone (or a group of fashion-savvy people) that can tell the difference between the real thing and the clone.

What's worse than getting verbal abuse from the fashion police? Hearing from the actual police and slapping you with fines that can get you the real thing!

I would rather have attempted murder, murder, multipe murder, attempted homicide, homicide, multiple homicide, theft, vandalism, extortion, larceny, arson, treason, bank robbery, terrorism, sexual abuse of a minor (well, he was 17, I just turned 18... that sort of thing), driving under the influence of alcohol, driving under the influence of drugs, cocaine posession and intent to sell heroin all of them showing up on my criminal record which is as thick as the Manhattan yellow pages than, say, get fined or arrested for carrying a fake Vuitton bag.

At least I murdered someone wearing real Gucci. At least I blew up someone's house wearing real Dior. At least I had sex with a 17 year old while I pretended to be 16 because I was wearing real Marc by Marc Jacobs. At least I used a real Balenciaga bag to deal heroin on the streets. At least I wore real Chanel when I robbed the nearest bank. At least I smuggled cocaine on my real Smythson of Bond Street airline ticket billfold inside my real Pucci tote bag when I got caught at the airport.

But walking on the streets being the crime-free, innocent, clean, virginal mother fucker that I can be whilst carrying one of those god damn fake Murakami Multicolore bags?

NOT my kind of thing darling. Where's the glamour in that?

Remember the bag lady bandit who bought off a faux-Dior top off ebay? Disgusting wench I'm telling you. If ya don't have the budget to buy the real thing, there are a ton of cheap yet gorgeous finds out there. They don't have to have a label.

Drunk Dialing Brigade

Are you guilty of this abominable sin? I know I am.

Big apologies to my friend Andy in the UK who has to endure a 20-minute alcohol-induced over the phone whingeing last night.

Anyway, I came across this snippet from "The Hookup Handbook: A Single Girl's Guide to Living It Up" while I was taking a poo earlier.

As always, send me love, send me email, send me anything - bryanboy@gmail.com.

Baboosh.