The Simple Life
I’ve been leading a simple life these days because of exhaustion.
I’m too burnt out to work, too burnt out to travel… I’m just EXHAUSTED of EVERYTHING.
Maybe I should fly to middle of nowhere Arizona and check myself into one of those rehabilitation clinics.
I devirginized both my Goyard and Ordning & Reda agendas yesterday evening. It’s sickening to know that I only have 2 life-threatening things to do this week.
A haircut AND a facial this afternoon.
How boring is that?
I need to get my life back on track.
I need a social life.
I need to be productive.
I need to do something nice, something exciting, something vibrant, something life-changing, something fulfilling, something innovative, something profitable, something… something.
Seriously…. I can’t help but feel sorry and sad for myself, looking at how empty my life (and my agenda) is.
Maybe I need a hobby.
I don’t know.
It’s a MIRACOL!
Every once in awhile, Hannah Matronic (my estranged wife) and I giggle on how barok (primitive) my English is.
I’m a card-carrying free speech advocate. I believe everyone should be entitled to say whatever the hell they want without the fear of being anally humiliated by the grammEr (yep… grammEr) nazis, the spell-check squad and the syntax police.
It’s not uncommon in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives to be attacked simply because your English skills suck. Not even Chanel or Goyard can save your life in the social weighing scale because English proficiency is considered as a status symbol in this country.
On that note… I feel like screaming
IT’S A MIRACOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!
One of my good friends said someone called her to say I forgot my cellphone and my wallet somewhere… and they’re holding it for me until I drop by to pick it up.
I can’t believe there are angels out there and my Moto Razr and my Goyard wallet is still alive and breathing oxygen.
*fingers, legs and toes are crossed*
I’ll try my best to pick it up today or tomorrow.
Remi Martin Through The Ages
Meet Remi. Remi is a sweet little kid (I have to admit that he’s far from little because the fucker is about 6-foot-2 tall) from Sweden. Remi is one of my "original fanboys", as he once said in an email.
This photo was taken today….
I was supposed to meet him when I went to Stockholm but he backed out on the last minute cause he was scared that his English ain’t that good. That’s alright though.
He’s a great chat buddy if you don’t mind talking to delusional model-wannabes who needs a nose job (thanks Mauricio). I’m kidding.
Seriously, Remi is a really sweet kid. He’s the big little gay brother I never had. I mean, he claims he’s "straight"… I think they all do in Sweden, but my gaydar and his medicine cabinet says he’s a flamer!
I feel bad for him because he got beaten up by 2 guys right on New Year’s Eve! He was drunk and he claims he wasn’t able to defend himself. Poor Remi. Not even the gayest of the gays (aka me) got beaten up on New Year’s Eve.
Speaking of young gay people, Hannah Matronic and I are onto something. I’ll tell you more about it later.
Let this post be a tribute to my good acquaintance Remi Martin. It’s amazing how he exemplifies human evolution. You don’t need to go to a museum or a library to research the history of man… all you need is Remi!
Back when Remi is as fat as a boar.
Remi when he was a chubby little cherub
Remi in his mid-teens. Look at the skin!
Remi with a friend
Remi in high school
Remi’s class picture
Remi on New Year’s Eve when he got beaten up
People of Sweden
Jag älskar er alla, ni svenskar också!!!!!
Maila mig era mammaknullare och säg hej!!!!
I love you all, as always. Email firstname.lastname@example.org and tell me you love me.
No Doubt I’m Back in the Third World
Pop open those last few remaining bottles of Cristal and have an alcoholic 2006.
There is absolutely no doubt that I’m back in the third world.
My skin is now back to its sweaty and moist glory; I don’t even have to do anything, no movement whatsoever, to sweat like a rapist. Gone are the days where I have to apply industrial-strength grease to my elbows, knees, and feet to prevent them from drying — that’s what I did in Europe. LOL.
My pores are all open again and my body has expanded to ridiculous and enormous proportions because of my mother’s’ force-feeding and nutritional habits. In fact, I’ve been eating unhealthily again… I’m eating too much (and I’m taking far too much carbs)!!!!!!
Here’s proof: my nonexistent jawline is back!!!!
Goddammit I need a haircut badly. Tomorrow! Monday! The salon and my aestheticians will be open – I need some serious pampering ASAP!!
Since it’s New Year’s Day, my parents decided to visit that we visit my only living grandparent – my grandmother on my dad’s side.
It was a long drive down south to their
farm house in the province. Contrary to what you may think, no, we don’t have one of those infamous Filipino "ancestral" homes and haciendas that require the population of China as household help. I’m born and bred lower middle crass and I love it.
I was supposed to visit one of my aunts but fuck it – it’s been 36 hours since I last slept, my eyes were red and puffy and my skin is shit… I ended up asking my driver to take me home at 4PM.
Keep the love coming! Love comes in the form of pictures of yourself either a) doing the infamous Bryanboy pose or b) holding a sign that says you love me. STOP being a lazy mother fucker and please avoid photoshopping. Hah! Sorry for being a demanding bitch but I need to feel good about myself you fucking whores. Email your imagery of love and hate to email@example.com. Be spontaneous! Be creative! Hell you can even go naked and get your local muscle mary fire department to carry you while you’re holding a "I LOVE BRYANBOY" sign. Make me drool bitches!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Kew, VIC Australia, Lackarebck, Sweden, Jonsered Sweden, Ejby, Denmark Hunters Hill, NSW Australia, Severna Park, MD, Nashua, NH, Mont Park, VIC Australia, Helsinki, Finland, Oslo, Norway, Shanghai, China, White Plains, NY and of course, all the lovely people of Las Vegas, N-E-V-A-D-A!!!! Identify yourselves bitches and say hello.
#2 – One thing I noticed about Swedish guys (in Sweden, of course), is the fact that they love their hair long. It’s quite a distinct Swede style – blond hair slicked back on the front, long edges flapping on the side… if a Swede is a brat (that term is popular there), they’d wear eyeglasses to make them look… err… smarter?
Here’s a ***VERY*** Swedish look.
as for these…. (courtesy of Simon)… well.. they’re cute anyway.
Sadly, my hair is TOO thick for me to grow it that long, not to mention the unbearable, saunaific heat in the third world will make my batok (oh look… I published my first Filipino/Tagalog word on my blog… what a milestone!) aka the back of my neck, drip with sweat.
#3 – I can’t believe the Dior Homme top that I bought in Paris (which was like around 140 Euros) is US$300 in Eluxury.com! I should have bought them in EVERY color!
#4 – It’s HILARIOUS how my dad emailed me an article entitled "INCONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION: Now that luxury has gone mass market how are the super-rich to flaunt their wealth?" from Economist.com. Click here to read the article. Imagine waking up with that article flashing on your inbox.
Don’t worry dad… I’m not super-rich and I will never be super-rich. Heck, fuck PRETENDING to be super-rich. It’s much more fun to be on the lower end of the scale because being crass is much more self-satisfying than trying to have class!
You know where to contact me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org. As always, I love you all!
"Girls are Too Much Time"
says this guy’s own mother.
Meet Farris Hassan, a 16 year old American Republican past-beyond-the-twink stage who went to Iraq on his own to experience and understand what Iraqi people are going through.
This guy skipped school in order to fly to war-torn Iraq.
What on earth was he thinking? Click here to read the full article.
Dude, I may be obsessed about Chanel but I wouldn’t go to 31 Rue Cambon in a heartbeat. It requires wayyyy more than a business class flight on Singapore airlines.
Notice to the Public
#1 – I’m sorta incommunicado from the rest of the world. I still haven’t gotten a new phone because I’m not sure whether I left my phone and my wallet at a friend’s friend’s house (or his bar).
I’m going to get a new phone soon but I’m more concerned about the contacts and text messages on my Moto Razr. My phone contains numbers of various people I’ve met during my mini-winter escapade. Some of the messages (although short and nothing interesting) also have sentimental value to me.
My Goyard wallet also contains a handful of business cards (I think), particularly the ones from John Galliano’s assistants and store directress.
Please, please, please pretty please email me if you have seen my black Moto Razr and yellow Goyard wallet. Email email@example.com.
I swear, you can even have my fucking phone. It’s my contacts that I need… all my friends, lovers and frenemies. I’m a lonely mother fucker without them.
#2 – I love it when people spread the word about my crassy self and my car crass crash web site. But I don’t like it when people use my name to sell things that doesn’t have the Bryanboy Stamp of Approval.
While they’re not saying anything negative about me, someone has been using my glorious name to spam various online forums and forwarding emails about how to make money on one’s website.
Bryanboy’s 2006 Resolution
1. I will eliminate bullshit in my life. This includes bullshit people and bullshit things.
2. 2006 will be healthier year for me. I will haul my fat ass to the gym, even if it’s by rickshaw.
3. I will spend 2-3 weeks on a volunteer thing either in Nepal, Mongolia or Tibet. When? I don’t know. But I most certainly will. Fuck 6-foot high backpacks though… I’m bringing Goyard! I want to do something for humanity even for once. Not that I already don’t do anything good for man-kind.
4. I vow to find my own personal Aleksandr Petrovksy (sans marriage, kids, wrinkles and liver spots). I also vow to find romance in my life… that romance will come in the form of a little Oscar de la Renta number and I’ll wear it when I go to… Starbucks! I have to admit that the chances of this happening are slim to none because the older I seem to get, the younger (and poorer) the boys I tend to attract.
5. Someone will GIVE me a job that will allow me travel all over the world, all expenses paid. Why even bother applying for a job when someone can give it to me? All I gotta do is to find that special someone. God knows how I’m gonna pull this one off. Can I reiterate that I am good (I am VERY good) when it comes to sexual favours?
6. Logos will be kept at minimum during 2006. I promise to be more discreet. Expect a ton of alligators, polo players, Hs, Ys and interlocked Cs.
7. I will have my own apartment. Oh yes. I don’t care if my mom bought me a new queen-sized bed (apparently, I’m not yet ready for a king-sized bed) for Christmas! I will move out of my familia de horreur’s birdcage, by hook or by crook, so I can throw hallucinogenic drug-fuelled parties and STD-inducing orgies with all the town’s Tom, Dick and Harries.
I think that’s about it. I’ll be honest though – I’m not really big into these New Year Resolution things because laziness is my last name, procrastination is my best friend and it’s soo much easier to have a fuck you attitude on things.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Bethany, OK, Lambeth, London UK, Minneapolis, MN, Pantai Valley, Malaysia, Rochester, NY, San Francisco, CA, Chula Vista, CA, Blackpool, England, Summit Argo, IL, Madison, WI, Mountain View, CA, Syracuse, NY, Phoenix, AZ, Las Vegas, NV, Highlands, TX and of course, people from Skåne, Sweden. Bryanboy loves you all! Identify yourselves, bitches and say hello to me, the national mascot of the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives!
#2 – Lovely. NOT! Thanks for corrupting my mind. You know who you are.
#3 – Just because I went travelling for a month and a half it doesn’t mean the photos of your love should stop. Bombard my email account with imagery of your love. I’m a sad little bitch this New Year (I was supposed to go to this island but I’m too exhausted of travelling). Email firstname.lastname@example.org.
I love these girls. I really do.
I love you all, as always.
Email me – email@example.com! I’m a lonely, sad, miserable mother fucker with no phone and with no access to "friends".
Except for one (who, thank god, called my landline a few minutes ago.)
Rest in Peace, Daria.
Rest in peace, my baby. You’ve been here for a little over a month but Daria but you brought so much joy and happiness in my household. I terribly miss you. It was completely my FAULT. I tried to save your fragile life but I made a wrong decision in the process. I wish I have sent you to a different veterinarian instead of the one who said you have kidney and liver problems. I wish I didn’t allow you to be confined at their clinic – they made the wrong decision to put you on dextrose, causing you to bloat. I wish I could turn back the clocks and brought you to an acquaintance’s referral. I just hate you being gone!
I terribly, terribly miss you babe. I tried to avoid conversations with people over the past few days because I thought I could pretend to put a straight face and play numb… but I just can’t do it anymore.
I know it’s too late for me to tell you this. AT FIRST, I thought I’d get you from the breeder simply because you were so beautiful, small and I wanted a "toy". I originally wanted a small dog for "novelty purposes" – a dog to pamper based on my selfish needs and not YOUR real needs, a dog to dress up and be seen with etc. My original intentions to get you were based on pure selfishness.
But I fell in love with you a few days after we met. You became my only best friend. I’ve put my own personal gain and selfishness aside because I know you deserved to be loved and cared for. You’re not just for "now", you’re a companion for life.
Words cannot express my sadness or how I truly feel. I am so sorry for irresponsibly taking your life away from you. I love you – you will always be remembered and I will never forget you.
(This message goes out to my readers: I know you guys are a nice bunch but I would appreciate it if you don’t say/ask me anything in regards to Daria’s death. I’d like to thank you, in advance, for YOUR condolences – I hope y’all understand. This is one of my personal flaws – I tend to play MUTE, DEAF and BLIND when it comes to personal problems. It’s a nasty, permanent flaw, unfortunately…)
Life Went On
Don’t I deserve an Academy award for putting up a fake face over the weekend in spite of Daria’s death a few days ago?
Errr.. iIt wasn’t a fake face actually; I *DID* have a lot of fun.
It felt like as if I had a huge lump in my throat and the only way to numb myself from feeling such lump is through copious amount of alcohol, make-up and clothes that a transvestite prostitute would be proud of.
I think I’ll stick to my 2-year old breedless, classless, "domestic short-haired" cat, Pinkie. I don’t want to waste any more lives at my EXPENSE.
I have a heart too, you know… 138/90 and 92 beats per minute.
I got up at 5:30AM earlier this morning and left the house at around 7:00AM to do some errands.
I quickly dropped by at my gal pal’s place and had some early morning gossip. Went to Starbucks afterwards, had a latte and drove back to my aesthetician’s clinic only to find out that they’re closed because of the All Saint’s/Souls Day holiday season.
Show Me Some Lovin’ Lovin’
Here are a couple of fan pics for you to point your fingers at and laugh. Thank you, thank you, thank YOU! Bryanboy loves you all and like what I said before, if only I can give you sexual favors, I would.
Meet Thom from the UK. Here I am thinking an extra "H" on one’s name is a very Filipino trait but little had I known it also exists halfway across the world.
Thom darling, I give you A+ for effHort.
You gotta love those kids in Singapore doing the Bryanboy pose. My god, the Philippine Embassy in Singapore should have a fucking BRASS MONUMENT of ME with my pose.
Worship me! All of you! I want y’all to put your left hand on your waist and your right arm in the air!
Last but not the least, Bryanboy loves people from Malaysia, especially Malaysian schoolkids.
Malaysia, Truly Asia!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Seaside, CA, Bombay, India, Paris, France, Queenstown Estate, Singapore, Valencia, CA, Maylands, WA, Australia, San Francisco, CA, Markham, ONT, Canada, Newmarket, QLD and of course, people from Copenhagen, Denmark. Bryanboy loves you all! Identify yourselves, bitches and say HI!.
#2 – Whenever I go out in public, I always take a quick trip to the toilets every once in a while to smell my armpits.
Being the complete sweaty betty that I am (trust me, in this weather, even a trivial thing such as BREATHING NORMALLY can make me sweat), I know I’m NOT the record-breaking, best-smelling person in the world so I do make the effort to lift my arms up, shove my nose to my pits and figure out whether or not my armpits stink — IN PRIVATE.
(BTW: Thank god my pits don’t usually get wet. It’s my PALMS and forehead that’s my problem.)
Anyway, rumor has it that there’s this one person locally who doesn’t seem to care (or at least make an effort) about his/her armpits. It’s not the first time I heard such gossip about ____. It’s quite sad that people talk about this person about that BO problem but NOBODY has the balls to confront that person – I know I CAN’T… cause I have a vagina.
But then again, who am I to judge when I haven’t really smelled that person?
If you think I have body odour or bad breath (guilty as charged, especially when I go out – I love oysters and booze – perfect recipe for halitosis!), please send an anonymous (or NOT SO) anonymous tip via www.sendatip.com. I invite you to send a tip to THAT person, i HOPE he knows who he is, so they’ll know what’s going on without revealing yourself.
I still can’t do it AND I won’t do it either… though I guess it would look as if it came from me because I posted that website URL on my blog. LOL.
Patsy Stone once said "one whiff of a cocoa bean and our customers would fly like vampires before garlic."
I don’t want to be that coca bean. I’m sure NOBODY does.
But this person that I’m talking about is worse than cocoa bean AND garlic, COMBINBED!
Oh I don’t know what to think anymore.
I love you all! As always, you know how to get hold of me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-7851492.
Beauty & Premature Ageing
The title, the photo and the caption says it all.
I turned myself into a 66-year old OVERNIGHT.
If you think that was bad, wait till you see what I saw at Eluxury.com earlier today. Since when did they put people with awful plastic surgery on that website?
Speaking of plastic surgery, god I need it. Fast.
Anyone kind enough to give me the gift of good looks?
I don’t need to have good looks.
I mean, let’s face it, you only need good looks if you want to be a prostitute or something.
Does one need to have good looks in order to survive this big, bad, shallow world?
Nuh uh, I don’t think so.
Let’s talk about weight for instance.
When I was much, much younger, I wished I had an eating disorder.
A couple of years later, that wish was granted. I developed an eating disorder: I ate far too much.
Anyway, I don’t want to have problems good-looking people have.
People lusting over them only because of the way they look, people talking to them only because of the way they look, people offering them jobs just because the way they look, people giving them money just because of the way they look.
Enough beauty talk. That photo is fucking awful.
I don’t even know why I posted it here.
Besides, I’ve posted far too many fugly photos of myself on this site.
I need sympathy, bitches!
Motorola, The Philippine Daily Inquirer and Not Enough Circuses (my very good friend of godknowshowmany years, Ariel Lozada’s production team) are holding an event, featuring 5 of the Philippines’ young designers, Ivarluski Aseron, Ignacio Loyola, James Reyes, Yvonne Quisimbing-Romulo and Joey Samson on Tuesday, October 25 at the NBC Tent.
Ziggi Zigga Zara
was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time was perfect.
I have NO idea how I managed to get home earlier this morning when the moon and the stars are still up.
In fact, I got home at around 4:30AM.
For the past few months, my personal "ride of shame" had always been done in broad daylight. 7AM, 8AM, 9AM even 10AM. It’s extremely rare for me to be home before 6AM.
ride of shame = that icky, lonely, home-bound 20 minute-long journey with you (and only you) at the back of the car, staring at the window with your designer sunglasses, palpitations and headaches galore, after a night’s worth of debauchery
I think I had an early night cause I went out first thing in the afternoon.
I went to Louis Vuitton, bought a pair of boots, a Beijing Carnet de Voyage and a woollen scarf. Thank god they’re done cleaning with my Damier trunk.
I also went to Mix for a pair of Antik denim jeans and to Diesel for a t-shirt and a tank top.
Apres-shopping, I quickly dropped by at the Zara Store Opening. Had far too many cocktails and yes, those damn quail-egg nibbles are good.
(This is why I *NEVER* smile or laugh at any of my photos. I look hideous!)
After Zara, a friend and I quickly went to the supermarket to buy some supplies for our little "girls night in" mini-party.
Errr, sorry, wrong photo.
What are those things at Paris’ back, arms and elbows? Rashes? Marks? Whatever?
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Camberwell, VIC, Australia, Warsaw, Poland, Trenton, NJ, Lake Hiawatha, NJ, Austin, TX, Assentoft, Denmark, Zurich, Switzerland, Pequannock, NJ, Orlando, FL, Bonn, Germany, Suasalito, CA and of course, people from Santa Monica, CA. Bryanboy loves y’all! Identify yourselves bitches and say hi!
#2 – Drew Barrymore is gonna model for Missoni. Lucky bitch. Click here for the article. Someone just fucking stop this blatant fashion hijacking by celebrities. Celebrities are fucking stealing models’ jobs!
#3 – Gotta finish my article tomorrow for Just Shop magazine.
#4 – Keep an eye out on my blog tomorrow for my new online project.
#5 – Elijah Wood is very, very, gay. Yuck. I don’t like the way he looks. In fact, he looks just like Harry Potter.
You know where to contact me if you need me. Email email@example.com or SMS +63-915-7851492.
Delay Delay Delay
A big hello to all of you. I know I haven’t updated much in the past two days. I’ve been terribly, terribly busy. Plus, my colds and cough are still here. I’m fine though –
don’t you dare thanks for worrying about me. your thoughts of sympathy are good but I need a new Chanel bag.
Unfortunately, I started smoking again. Yesterday, to be exact… after a 6-day lung holiday.
Save the lung cancer sermon – I don’t need it. In fact, shove this imagery up your buttocks if you want. I look forward to the day when my lungs turn pitch black.
Err, ok, I take that back.
I’ll stop smoking. I promise.
I look forward to the day I turn 75 – at least I’ll get to wear Oscar de la Renta.
Going back to business, my god, I’m soo anxious to see what my best friend Kelly’s offspring are gonna be.
I actually know what they are already. (DUH)
It’s just that I can’t reveal them until Friday night. That’s what I said on the invite.
Everyone knows that patience is a word that does NOT exist in my vocabulary. A pretentious parrot such as myself will never, ever, voluntarily shut his mouth for a few days to stop himself from bragging.
Keeping this secret from each and everyone of you is nothing but pure torture!
I think y’all gonna die if you knew what’s inside those two eggs. I’ll give you a couple of hints:
- they’re both brown
- one of them has some of the world’s most exotic skins
- one of them is bigger than the other
- one of them can fit inside the other
I know it’s already quite obvious from those two pictures but please gargle and swallow that man cream cum like a proper whore so you won’t ruin it for everyone else.
Besides, it could be an iguana or a ferret.
You never know.
Keep an eye out on Friday, October 7, 2005.
And yes, I know what you’re thinking. Shut IT. Oh yes. Just STOP, STOP, STOP looking at my arms and my bulging stomach. I know I’m BALLOONING to UNBELIEVABLE PROPORTIONS. It’s hard being a surrogate mother. Contrary to what people think, I will never, ever, ever accept that dirty rumor our ancestors said over time. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT the "joys of motherhood" is worth all that excess flesh and stretch marks that motherhood brings. That’s all bollocks, I’m telling you.
I’m not even a real mother yet I already have stretch marks.
Bah! I won’t dig my own grave any further. What would my future grandchildren think if they read this blog in year 2080 and see that I admitted having stretch marks on a public domain?
Louis Vuitton Goodies
Yesterday was quite productive. I accomplished a ton of stuff – went to my usual haunt in Greenbelt, enjoyed a huge lunch with my gal pal Tina. As always, I enjoyed our our favorites – baked oysters, foie gras with green apple tart, duck confit, green mango and prawns salad.
Picked up a few things at Louis Vuitton – bought a bag strap and a bracelet. My special orders from Paris also arrived – my ski bonnet and my fur gloves.
This Thing About My Age
Stop this ludicrous commotion about my age – all of you!
Since when did a number became so important in your backwater swamp gossip talks? Heck, the only set of numbers that are important to me is the number of unfortunate guys I’ve slept with, my American Express card number and of course, the number of times I ask my maid to fetch me a glass of water each and every day.
Let me clarify this once and for all.
I’m too old to be a runway model in Milan, too young to be a pensioner, too old to be a pedophile’s sexual prey, too young to be a parent (of any kind), too old to be barely legal.
In other words, I’m….
cha-chin,. cha-ching, cha-ching
However, I’ll leave it up to YOUR imagination on how many ++ (plus plus) you’d like to add to that age.
Have you guys forgotten my annual 18th birthday party this year when i failed dressing up like a proper
bloke on knickers ladyboy?
Now as for that special someone at the LVLU discussion forums who thought I’m 17 years old…
Well, I wouldn’t call you special for nothing.
Let’s leave it at that.
I’ve been thinking of going dropping by Tallinn, Estonia (and Riga, Latvia) mid-trip on my Russian holiday. Like most countries, I need a fucking visa to go to that "Nouveaux-Euro" country. One of their visa requirements is the fact that I need to have some invitation to visit their country, even as a tourist.
Blah blah blah Kabbalah.
Unfortunately, there are no Estonian embassies in South East Asia so I have to fedex my passport and visa application to some far-flung place (i.e. USA).
I’m just waiting a response from their immigration people to see what they have to say.
2 names baby.
Carmen Kass and Tiiu Kuik.
If that country can export fine specimen such as those two, I’m curious on what they have in store over there.
Grocery shopping you ask?
Believe it or not, I had my first ever encounter with someone Estonian yesterday. We exchanged quite a few messages and he seems to be nice.
Hold the malicious thoughts right there. All we did is talked about friggin Estonia.
I’ll keep you posted in the next few weeks to come whether or not I’m going to Tallinn as well.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1- Bryanboy loves people from Zaventem, Belgium, Reading, MA, Wellers Hill, Queensland, Australia, Pennsauken, NJ, Saint Paul, MN, Woodhaven, NY, Piedmont, CA and of couse, people from Manila, Philippines. Identify yourselves, bitches – Bryanboy loves each and everyone of you.
#2 – People from Finland are talking about me. God knows what they are talking about though – and I don’t care. It’s nice to get some attention from the far north. Click here to read the thread on some discussion forum. Big brownie points if you can understand what the hell they are talking about. Hello Finland!!!!
#3 – Jesus, the heat here is FUCKING killing me. I’ve got my airconditioning set to the coldest temperature it’s capable of but the heat seeps through our fucking roof – yes, we have third world roofing. We’re poor!
#4 – The Kate Moss cocaine video is out. Let’s all put this issue down to rest shall we?
More upates later. Promise!
As always, you know where to contact me… +63-915-785-1492 or firstname.lastname@example.org.
I thought I’d do one last whinge before I get some serious skin-tightening beauty sleep on my Pratesi-covered mattresses.
Ever since I started this blog, I’ve received far too many emails from you, my dear readers, on how I should come visit you for some serious R & R: reckless recreation.
We all know that geography is no boundary when it comes to my fans. Who knew there’s internet access in friggin Zimbabwe? Who knew I have fans who live in Ecuador? Even folks from Winnipeg, Alberta and Littleton, Colorado, they’re all feeding themselves with verbal diarrhea coming from my little third world rectum.
As much as I’d want to visit each and every one of you, one should realize that 99% of all the countries (and that includes friggin Iraq and Afghanistan) in the world show their disgust every time they see this snot-colored piece of document that we, citizens of the brown, the l’exotique and the natives, are born with.
That’s right bitches.
Immigration officials, visa officers, diplomats and consular services representatives wordwide frown upon anyone who holds the above-pictured passport because of all the bad deeds our ancestors did, dating back when the passport got invented.
You probably won’t believe the number of citizens of this third world hell hole cesspit would do anything just to get out of the country PERMANENTLY and ILLEGALY.
And it’s fucking true.
All the stereotypes you’ve heard from your neighbour are correct.
For instance, did you know that ALL Filipinos have some sort of a relative… or a distant relative, living in the United States of the Democrats, the Republicans and the Damned?
People from my land, the land of clear blue skies, coconut trees, weather la tropicale and boring malls would do anything just to get out of the country? It doesn’t matter whether they marry a sex-starved pensioner from Europe or smuggle themselves in cheap nylon suitcases one body part at a time: a lot of people will find a way just to get out… and most of them did.
What’s even worse are illegal immigrants who are a drain to a foreign government’s resources: benefits and welfare scroungers.
So here I am, a model citizen, suffering the consequences of my fellow shitizens.
Each and every god damn country in this planet now requires a friggin visa before allowing us to breathe oxygen in their country.
Some visas are easy to get, particularly the ones where no one from my country usually go to: India, China, Mongolia, etc, while most embassies now require us to give our entire lives documented in paper: bank statements, credit card statements, income tax returns, proof of assets, house & car titles, letters from our employers or proof of our businesses and everything else that you can think of.
And yes, they even want your first born child… or your bed sheet thread count if you’re impotent.
Now I don’t mind giving out such paperwork if I wanna go to a full blown shopping and reckless recreation expedition but doing so each and every time I want to go somewhere (or getting one visa after another one expires) is a fuckin hassle.
The documents are one thing but what’s worse is the drama dealing with the embassies.
Waking up at some ungodly hour just to submit your application at the embassy is one thing.
Queueing for hours is another thing.
And having incessant chit chat with someone who wants to pry on your personal life is another…although I have to give everyone credit for not asking me my guilty pleasures, the number of people I’ve slept with and the number of times I got my hair coloured in the past.
When one of my gal pals went to a European city last year for around 2 weeks, the local embassy took around 3 weeks to a month just to process her visa application… and the embassy had her passport the whole time!
Most of these embassies employ hardcore snob-to-the-max Filipino administrative assistants who would give you the cold shoulder as if you’re a mere pleb when in reality they should be the ones hailing you because of the economic benefit they’ll get from you when you spend your dosh at their local shoppingeries.
I guess one should never forget that there are still citizens such as myself who loves living in the land of the brown, the l’exotique and the natives.
Why would I want to live somewhere else when I’m living like a fucking queen here?
I have drivers (alright, crappy, dumb drivers), I have maids.
I have Vuitton suitcases and Chanel shades.
I never fly economy
Because I hate the sound of ‘mommy’
I don’t want your fucking jobs
Coz my dry cleaning bills are worth more than your handbag!
There goes my singer/songwriting skills. Now you know why I’ll never make it to the R&B section of your local music store.
It’s true though… I’ll never, ever, ever give up whatever I have here just to live anywhere else.
Going on holidays and vacations are fine, but knock-knock-cliche-snap-snap-reality, there’s no such place like home.
So yeah, if you want me to visit your country, go ahead and write to your government and ask them to friggin waive the visa requirement for model citizens such as myself.
Otherwise screw you cause I’ll only go where the wind blows.
My Pratesi and rivotril are waiting are for me. Good night/morning/afternoon everyone! email@example.com or +63-915-785-1492 if you need me.