The spitting image of health

I couldn’t do it. I chickened out and ditched the salon at the last minute. In fact, I got there on time but my stylist was busy with another client… some fat lady in her 40s. We exchanged airkisses blah blah blah then he told me to take a seat and wait for the shampoo lady. I was all nervous and shit so I told him I’m gonna smoke a cigarette for a few minutes.

Fast forward an hour later, I sent him a text message saying I’ll reschedule sometime this weekend.

Click click click!

Oh I don’t know anymore.

My head tells me to cut my hair super short but my heart wants me to grow it even longer. Unfortunately I’m not one of those people who use their head whenever they make decisions. I’m more of a ‘follow your heart, not your hand’ sappy cunt.

There’s also the guilt factor. I spent all this time growing my hair ( trust me, it’s no easy feat) and then I’m gonna lose all of it in one sitting.

BTW, I look soo fucking young with my new photos, yes? I can’t even believe it myself. LOL. I originally didn’t want to wear my colourful bracelets but I look like a bloody school boy without em.

Oh enough bullcrap. I got up at 5AM earlier this morning and I’m knackered to the bone.

Let’s play pictionary shall we?

Like what I said, I’m gonna try to gain weight.

Just a little bit.

There’s definitely something in the air these days. I can’t pin point what it is. Generally I don’t give a shit what you douchebags think but I’m quite alarmed with some of your very disturbing comments on how I’m a skeletor blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda.

Someone even sent me a text message asking me whether or not the rumors were true that I got sent to the basement of some hospital (where they lock up people with disorders) for a few weeks and I have a ghostwriter writing in my behalf on my blog.

WTF?

You know I went to the bank sometime last week and these 2 girls on the queue were talking shit about me. How stupid of them to LITERALLY talk behind my back when I could BLATANTLY hear what they’re saying. What can I say, brown monkeys in the flips love their gossip alright. 

They went on and on and on and on and on and on and on like:

Fat bitch in baby tee and faded jeans #1: "Oh my god si Bryanboy! Bakit ba yan sikat eh ang chaka niya."

Translation: "Oh my god it’s Bryanboy! Why is he famous when he sucks?"

Fat bitch with fake coach bag #2: "Sino yan?"

Translation: "Who is he?"

Fat bitch in baby tee and faded jeans #1: "Yung bading na may website. Sikat yan sa internet ang dami niyang fans eh puro kalandian lang alam niya"

Translate: "The fag who has a website. He’s famous on the internet. He’s got so many fans but all he knows is faggotry."

Fat bitch with fake coach bag #2: "Parang narinig ko na yun. Bakit ba siya sikat?"

Translate: "I think I heard about him somewhere. Why is he famous?"

Fat bitch in baby tee and faded jeans #1: "Sikat siya kasi ang landi landi niya. Papakita ko sa yo yung website niya. Tignan mo siya. Kumakain pa ba yan? Nakakaawang tignan."

Translate: "He’s famous cause he’s gay. I’ll show you his website later. Look at him. Does he even eat? I feel sorry for him."

Fat bitch with fake coach bag #2: "OO nga noh. Kung sikat siya eh bakit siya mukhang normal?"

Translate: "If he’s famous why does he look normal?"

Fat bitch in baby tee and faded jeans #1: "Anung normal DIYAN?"

Translate: "What’s normal with THAT?"

You should’ve heard the way they talk — stereotypical third world gossip galore. You know what I mean, the ULTRA HARDORE "OHMYGOD" kind of people. I was trying to hide my laughter allthroughout their conversation. I’m not really the sort of person who will go all ballistic and fight fight fight…. ok, fine, the drama at my former shrink’s office is the only exception

When the bank teller gave me my receipts, I gave them one long look from head to foot followed by a quick smile, then minced my way out of the bank, slowly but surely.

Oh the satisfaction.

There’s a high chance one of those whores are reading my site right now.

HELLO FATTY PATTY BOOM BOOM!

— 

I mean really, this is public relations at its finest. Why should I whore myself when other people do it for me? You know, a lot of publicists in LA/NY concoct and fabricate all sort of shit fortheir clients to be talked about on the tabloids/media/etc.I  say keep it coming. I love it. I really do. At least I don’t have to stir shit for once. LOL.

Moving on.

So yeah, I had carbs.

Went to coffee bean after shopping and bought a blueberrry cheesecake, a chocolate chip cookie and vanilla ice blended.

The cheesecake is crap. CRAP CRAP CRAP. I swear to fucking god it tastes like talcum powder with blueberry jam on it. Disgustin!

I don’t even know why I ordered it. I think I bought it only for the the camera. You know, think Nicole Richie and her staged eating sessions for the paps.

Fatty patty boom boom!

Skeletor much?

Eeeew. Look at my right elbow on this photo. I’ve got veins popping out. It’s soo Angelina Jolie isn’t it? Eeek!

UGH!! I’m really pissed people are calling me skeletor. How can I be ‘skeletor’ when my chin is fucked up?

Beurk.

Blah.

And there you have it.

Oh and here’s something for the people who call me skeletor.

Let them eat cake!

I mean really, it’s funny how people call me skeletor in real life and then a few people online accuse me of chopping.

Blah!

I don’t know about you but I need to gain 7 more pounds.

Happy trails!

Email me and tell me you love me. My email address is bryanboy@gmail.com or SMS +63.915.785.1492.

I love you all!

PS. Keep the faggotry alive!