Fuck the Playboy Bunny
Oh fuck it.
The Cosmo Magazine Bachelor Bash will start in less than 2 or 3 hours and my gal pal Tina is giving a massage to her beau.
Which means my Playboy bunny ears, tail and black-tie collar piece won’t be done in time.
Screw it. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.
I told her last weekend that I wanna come out as a playboy bunny tonight but I guess she had other priorities.
The perils of
living in the third world and not having stores that carry costume props asking favors from friends who have busy schedules.
There’s always a next time.
Fuck dressing up as a playboy bunny.
At next year’s Cosmo bash I’m flying to Thailand to get a friggin sex change, get a pair of tits that can give a pregnant bitch a run for her money and a vagina as tight as a 14 year old’s.
Then I’m going out as a fuckin dominatrix.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Auckland, NZ, Irvine, CA, La Fiance, France, La Habra, CA, my fans from Dallas, TX and Echterdingen, Germany. I love y’all… each and every one of you. Keep the love coming.
#2 – Oui, Ja, Yes, Si. He of the guilty-and-gay-until-proven-straight homosexual kind was there last night at Jenni Ep’s party lookin good. Gawd. I feel like a fuckin school girl every time I see him at La Embajada.
#3 – I got around 9,400 hits yesterday. I wonder where all of that came from. Keep spreading the word around bitches, a ton of them are from the Netherlands and Venezuela. I love you all.
#4 – Since everyone in the land of the brown and the natives aka Las Islas Filipinas is reading this blog, I’m gonna clean up my site, open up ad space and bombard those folks on dial up with ad torture. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS me at +63-915-785-1492 if you want your ads to be posted here.
#5 – I need another holiday dammit. I wanna go to the beach. It’s been ages since I had maximum sun damage on top of a designer beach towel. I need to get brown and burned, from scalp to toes, on top of my virgin Chanel towel.
#6 – A loyal fan turned my "I wish I’m plastered on fuckin billboards at the freeway" fantasy into a virtual reality. Now if only someone can turn that virtual reality into REAL 50 Feet Tall, 150 Feet Wide billboard I’ll forever be indebted.
#7 – Send more love dammit! Be fucking creative and send your love to Bryanboy@gmail.com. PLEASE AVOID PHOTOSHOP. I only made an exception to Merrill Lynch because the damn company, I’m sure, can’t take photos of all of their employees.
I think that’s all for now. Last night’s party was one of the best parties recently and it better have a part 2.
I need to get dressed. Say hi to me later.
I’m nice and sweet.
Despite what y’all fuckfaced whoring scumbags think.
I love you all.
Bryanboy Mall Rat Extraordinaire
As part of my "research" for an upcoming article/piece, I spent the entire day hopping from one mall to another on the lookout for "good finds" (aka cheap thrills), chic post-shopping eateries and such. I went to a grand total of 4 "malls" today: Podium, Shangri-la Plaza, Greenbelt 4 and Glorietta plus 1 department store, good old Shoemart.
Podium was dead; I texted all of my friends and told them it felt like I was in a mausoleum. A mausoleum filled with stiff-looking, shirt-and-tied ninetofivers who looked down on me because I look like a punk kid gone camo.
Oh yes. You should’ve seen the looks on the faces of these 30-something, office clerk workers when I entered Starbucks.
Just because I look like a ghetto trash army rag doll (cum rag is more appropriate because my black t-shirt’s got gold paint splatters) it doesn’t mean you can go high all hoity toitty on me.
My entire body is covered with invisible "You’re-Staring-At-Me-And-Giving-Me-Crappy-Looks" sensors. I get internal titillations every time someone’s eyeball roll to my direction.
Heck, even my Birkin bag, which I used today, is covered with such detectors.
That’s right. I ditched my Chanel 2.55 in the car and brought the holy grail of handbags with me when I went to Podium.
Punk kid my ass when my Birkin bag is DEFINITELY more than their third world annual income.
Editorial Note: One of the joys of owning a *genuine* Birkin bag is the bragging rights that come along with it.
Fucking Yuppies. God I despise them. Prtentious yuppies in white, blue, gray or pink button down shirts with trousers and loafers that scream OFFICE WORKER!
Darlings, just because you’re in a bloody office uniform it doesn’t give you the right to feel you’re loaded, so cut the snobbery, bitch!
Don’t get me wrong though. I really have nothing against office workers. Or clerks. Or minimum wagers. Afterall, their taxes fuel most politicians’ fat wallets therefore giving us more golddigger opportunities.
But it’s cunts like me who keep the GLOBAL economies afloat. Paris, New York, Milan, plus all the sweatshops all over the world that print the "Made in Italy" label.
Think about it.
Office workers = Local Economy
CLMs (Cunts Like Me) = Global Economy
Anyway. Enough teenage angst.
Let’s continue with the pomp and the high-voltage tales of tension pretension that you guys love.
Don’t blame me darlings, I’m smoking Cartier Lights. I’m obliged to be pretentious as my lungs get filled with Cartier tar! HK Duty Free I <3 You!
Now if only Graff or Verdura made cigarettes…
Shangri-la housed the only place (Homme et Femme) in this third world cesspit that I call home where one could find Balenciaga, Dior Homme, Costume National and Marni amongst others.
Editorial Note: will you please create another shop (or move) to friggin Makati this way I don’t have to do the 2-hour driving trek from the suburbs to your shop?
I like that shop. I really do.
Me likey likey so much that my original intention was only to look at their latest batch of Dior Homme but the sizes they have are size 3 or OBESE sizes (ruins the sole purpose of Dior Homme when they carry Dior Homme for fat people. GET THE ONES FOR RAIL ANOREXIC THIN BOYS PLEASE).
I ended up adding yet another Balenciaga bag (olive) to my collection, its matching coin purse keychain and a Balenciaga assymetrical sweater/top.
For truthful journalism’s sake, I have to tell you that the color is a little tad darker in real life.
I also went to Escada – that’s right bitches – the first time (ever as in ever) I’ve set foot in the store where I thought only Eurotrash grandmothers shop (despite the perennial quirky feminine youthful female orgy ad campaigns) but boy oh boy I found it fun and normal.
So "fun and normal" to the point where I added myself on the waiting list for the Escada/Siemens Denim and Diamonds cellphone (about US$900). Isn’t it j’adorable? It’s better than my random Nokia fuck-up child that can’t even take photos using the back camera because of a "memory" problem.
Greenbelt 4 was nothing new – same old same old. It was rather disappointing actually. It feels as if its halls are your house and the shops are your rooms. There was just nothing there that caught my eye. I even went to BVLGARI and tried a couple of watches – I found a really nice yellow gold piece but I didn’t like the strap.
Then I went to Vuitton (oh salvation) but the only good thing there is a dark plum-coloured velvet scarf with fringes.
Forget Glorietta. Most of the shops were closed because it was late.
One shop that DID caught my eye and made my Chanel black caviar 2.55 felt cheap was this:
Fake Burberry… Fake Chanel… Fake Everything!
Why on god’s name is this sort of thing allowed at a fucking mall considering we have GENUINE Burberry shops?
Whatever happened to copyright laws, intellectual property, anti-counterfeit laws etc?
Bah. Whoever owns that shop must have some god damn NERVE (and BALLS) to sell counterfeit goods.
Who the hell owns Glo-fucking-rietta?
Does anyone in the Philippines know?
If you do, will you please print this post and send it to the powers of be?
Stop playing in the dark with your glo-sticks and give a stern warning to whoever owns/operates that shop.
My Chanel 2.55 needed a fucking Xanax when we passed by the shop earlier. Had my genuine handbag had the mouth to talk and the voice to sue, it would’ve won millions of dollars in damages – hassle, emotional distress and visual battery.
I’ll update you in a bit.
I’m thirsty and in need of something to drink.
You know where to contact me. email@example.com or +63-915-785-1492.
Dirty Old Stalker
This man has been stalking me for the past few months now. His disgusting trash of an english ass won’t stop sending me messages. I think he wants to impregnate me and be his personal houseboy. As if I’d touch dirty dishes. Heck, I even ask my fucking maid to fuckin clear the ashes on my Hermès ashtray let alone wipe some elderly man’s poop chute before bedtime.
Go hunt some other sucky sucky 5 dolla fool you fucking twat cause this gook ain’t gonna touch your filthy AIDS stick.
My god, is he a fucking freak or what?
Someone should call the Scotland Yard on him for preying on young, innocent children such as myself.
Aren’t there any laws to protect the young and the restless?
His sheer existence on this planet is pretty much a crime to humanity… child abuse at its finest.
Even if I was a frigging whore I’d be selective of who I’d get fucked (and get paid by) because there’s no way I’m giving 15-minute gratification to a minimum waging pensioner in this life.
The gold digger in me will only procreate to people who belong to the Fortune 100 Bachelors list.
At least that’s what I learned in the "This Is How We Do Things Our Way" handbook of life.
I know, I know…
To further prove my bragging, self-validation-desperate, attention whoredom persona, I thought I’d do one of those "what’s inside your handbag" posts. The last time I did it was back in November of last year. I think I’m gonna do it more frequently from now on.
What do you expect? It’s fucking 2:44AM, I can’t sleep, and I’m in desperate need of a shower (hence the handbag spill at the back of my Chanel towel) – I’m too lazy to find a plain white backdrop for my goodies at this time of the night.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Norwood, MA, Chula Vista, CA, Pensacola, FL and early birds from Singapore who surf the net at fucking 2:50AM.
#2 – Bryanboy loves email such as:
Of course Gucci won’t make me happy. What the fuck are you talking about?
I look forward to the day when someone gives me a fucking US$64,000 40cm Hermes black crocodile Birkin bag with pave diamonds. That will definitely fill one big void in my life.
The eternal emptiness that is inside me can go to fucking hell if I can get my hands on that bag.
Mind the gap bitches cause that bag will make me happy happy long time.
#3 – Everyone in the fucking Philippines is gone/leaving! Hannah went to NYC to study, two people I know are in Australia probably parading their bottoms at Palazzo Versace (lucky bitches), one is leaving for Paris this week, a couple are going to Hong Kong in 2 weeks.
And here I am stuck in the fucking third world!
At least there’s something to look forward to this week: a private dinner party & a Russian-themed birthday party both on Wednesday night… and then the Cosmo bash on Thursday.
Enough rambling for now. I need to go to bed cause I have to be up by 9AM.
I love you all.
Fleece, Flesh, Fluxxe
First things first – what was I thinking when i wore my Marc by Marc Jacobs fleece top when I went out Saturday night? I should’ve known better that rainy days in this third world prostitution den of a city that I live in does not translate justification to wear fleece, even if it’s Marc by Marc Jacobs. I didn’t put the effort to dress up because I’m still suffering post-travelling traumatic stress.
Ianne, Tina and moi went to M Cafe for long overdue drinks (and dinner. sort of. I had 12 baked oysters, foie gras, and prawn + green mango salad). Apres M, we went to Fluxxe at Manila DJ Club. That’s right… Gian and the Thursday Fluxxe crew threw a "one big fluxxe" party last Saturday, a change from their usual Thursday sked.
I have to cut back on binge eating. For the past 2-3 months I’ve been supersizing myself. The effects are now showing up on my body… all that excess flesh are now gathering dust on my arms and my stomach. It’s hideous. Utterly hideous. I think it’s time to get a couple of rounds of lipoddisolve shots to, once more, attempt to achieve Paris Hilton’s arms. I think I’ll wait till late October, before I go to Moscow on November.
I guess I have to make do with what I have – for now.
I need to learn how to love my body.
That’s right. I need to love my body.
Love my body.
Love my body.
Love my body.
Love my body.
Buy someone to love my body.
Love my body.
Love my body.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Alexandria, VA, Cologne, Germany, East Alton, IL and Pandora, OH.
#2 – The angels must have been listening to me. I have gotten hold of this week’s hottest ticket, thanks to one of my friends. Eat your hearts and vaginas out bitches because my lucky cunt got a VIP Ticket to Cosmo Magazine’s Annual Bachelor Bash. If you only knew how hard it was for HIM to get one of these tickets… imagine going in competition with a ton of cock-hungry and man meat-deprived Filipino women and she-males. Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Benefactor you. *big hugs*
It’s gonna be one party with a ton of fit Filipino lads wearing nothing but teeny pieces of cloth. Most of these are probably Asians with 4 or 5-inch cocks. The sad thing is, a 9 or 10-inch dick is pretty much unheard of especially here in chinky chinky gooky gooky land. Who the hell cares though – it’s not often you pack a ton of fit guys inside one room.
The only thing I need at this point is an outfit. If any of you are going to the bash, hope to see you on Thursday night. And don’t forget to say hi!
#3 – I finally found the time to post upload all my Hongky Tongk photos online. Click here to view the photo album.
Back to Business
It’s back to business for me. As much as I want to think I’m still travelling, this bitch has got to do a reality check and start living his normal life.
On that note, let me do a public service announcement for those of you who are planning to fly via Philippine Airlines in the future. I hope whoever owns Philippine Airlines read this and/or any Philippine Airlines staffers/workers and such.
You see, the reason why I fly business class even on 1 hour and 40 minute flights is to separate myself from farm animals – cattle, sheep, goats, chickens – whenever I fly. I would rather pay premium money to ensure a comfortable flying experience: comfy seats, tons of space, pillows, blankets, etc than say be surrounded by unnecessary noise. It’s very rare for a screaming child to exist on business class rather than where mere mortals go to.
But the flight from Manila to Hongkong was one of the worst flights I’ve ever been in my entire life.
I like Philippine Airlines. Don’t get me wrong. The service is good. The staff is friendly. Everything is just great.
Yet there is this one man who wrecked that experience. Make that two because it takes 2 to tango.
Take a look at the elephant on this photo.
The man with the pregnant tummy had a mouth as big as his gut.
All throughout the flight, his voice can be heard from where we sat (seat 1K) right through the back of the plane.
He did NOT spare anyone in the flight some silence.
In his conversation with the other guy, he uttered all sorts of profanity in both the English and Filipino dictionaries.
What’s worse is the fact that this elephant is probably an airline/airport employee who only got upgraded… or worse, a free flyer… hitchhiker of the skies.
Every once in a while I’ll sit up straight to see the looks of everyone else’s faces near our seats and you can tell everyone wanted to try to sleep but they can’t because of this man.
I’m sure Judy Ann Santos, who is some big local actress in my country, who, btw, sat behind us, probably also had her ears wrecked by these elephants.
My friend and I tried to drop "subtle" hints, such as asking the stewardess whether they have EAR PLUGS or not – they don’t… not on short flights.
It was pure torture I’m telling you.
These 2 men sat at seat 1C and 1A, Sunday August 28, 2005, flight PR300, 8:00AM.
If you know anyone who works at Philippine Airlines, please print this post and ensure the elephant won’t fly again. Get him fired, get him roasted. Put him in a cage or better yet, send him to a fucking circus.
I just don’t want to see him ever again.
Excess, Excess, Excess
I’m at a loss of what to say right now so I’ll let the following pictures show you the kind of fun I had in Hong Kong. I’ll post all the photos we took in a photo album later tonight. I haven’t even unpacked my suitcases! Oi!
Cry Me a Mississippi River
Oh thank god. It’s nice to be back, in my room, with nothing but black boxers, a cigarette on my left hand… and smug look on my face.
That’s right — I’m back in the good ol comforts of my parents’ pig pen, humongous blue Globetrotter suitcase full of materialistic and orgasmic pleasure, shopping guilt and priceless memories.
I even came to the point where I called the airline to extend my stay in Hong Kong till Saturday because Tina, my gal pal, wanted to go back home today.
But reality sinked in and my heart (which means my wallet, my parents, my life…*kidding*) is nagging that I should just go back.
So off I went to the airport with her, went straight to the business class counter and used my charm to get away with the excess baggage – I had 45 kilos with me — oh yes — for free.
All I can say is that I wish I didn’t come home yesterday and extended my stay.
I miss Hong Kong… and shopping.
Rocky Rocked Our Rock-hard Hearts
I take back about everything I have said about male models.
Ok — maybe not.
On Sunday afternoon, post designer shopping madness, Tina and moi were doing a quick run down of the shops (hah) at Ocean Terminal in Hong Kong. We were kinda having a fight near the doors because I wanted to eat and/or go out for a cigarette but she wanted to go back to the hotel and take a shower.
Then comes this tall, bald looking (ok. not bald, but very short hair) guy walking up the stairs.
"Tina, look at that bald cutie. Oh my god!"
Tina D suddenly went to a frenzy and said "I know that guy! and he’s Filipino"
Then she went up to him and they apparently know each other. With my gal pal being well, motor mouth Miss Congeniality Tina D, she introduced him to me and me to him and invited Rocky to hang with us. Rocky wasn’t doing anything that day and was just roaming around.
With him being 6’2, he became our mascot-slash-bodyguard. Oh yes.
He tagged along with us, shopping and dining around Hong Kong. I’m telling you, his face/body is plastered in quite a few bilboards around that city, not to mention Singapore and Bangkok. He really is such a nice guy.
In fact, despite me being surrounded by people who work in fashion and not working in the fashion industry (contrary to what people think), he is one of the most down-to-earth, humble, hardworking people I have ever met.
He distances himself from other male models especially on shows cause all they talk is gym and boring/pretentious stuff… and he doesn’t like it when everyone speaks English — in the Philippines.
He even deprives himself of things, saves all of his money from campaigns, shows, etc, even to the point of just living on the US$15 a day personal budget (although if he WANTED to spend spend spend, he can do it easily) – just so he can give everything he earned to his family. Come to think of it, he recently bought a 600-square meter land in the province for his mom. Can any Filipino male model do that? I don’t think so.
On our last day in Hong Kong, Rocky and moi spent over 7 hours straight, non-stop, talking about everything under the sun – from 4AM until 11AM, without any sleep whatsoever. Even Tina couldn’t resist chiming in when she got up.
I’m not gonna go into detail on what we talked about but trust me, it made me feel guilty about shopping that day.
I saw something in Rocky I haven’t ever seen in my life – an older brother. I wish him all the best (because he deserves it all) and I hope to see him again.
Meet My New Best Friend, Kelly
Kelly and Me on Nathan Road
Tina, Rocky and I found Kelly, the Rubber Chicken, on the streets of Granville Road. I love her! Everyone in Hong Kong loves her! I used my Birkin bag everyday and put Kelly inside it and trust me – I got more attention from people because of Kelly, instead of my Birkin.
Kelly and Me Inside the Dior Store in Lee Gardens where I Bought My Dior Bag
Kelly and a Jean Paul Gaultier Store Sales Associate
It’s nice to make (and see) people smile because of a rubber chicken. Chinese people, particularly the ones in Hong Kong, are generally cold and don’t have a sense of humor. However, with Kelly’s head and neck popping out of my Birkin bag and flops as I walk the streets as if it’s one huge runway during fashion week, people smile, point, and even ask me whether or not they can touch the chicken.
Even police officers, immigration people and customs people LOVES Kelly. The smile, laughter and happiness that Kelly gives to people is priceless.
And of course, Kelly never flies economy on international flights or flights longer than 1 hour. It’s always business class or first for her.
More updates in a bit, including my EXCESS, EXCESS, EXCESS photos.
I love you all!
Eat Your Heart Out.
Boy oh boy the folks at Inquirer are generous. That’s why I love them. (ha ha – am I a freeloader too?)
And there I was — stuck for about an hour and a half inside the car yesterday en route to my travel agent, thinking/asking myself
"I wonder how much do those billboards on the freeway cost."
But this one is better.
You should’ve seen the billboards that we have on the freeway – they’re HUGE.
I think it would be absolutely fabulous if I have my face plastered on a billboard, followed by my website address and my cellphone number, followed by "Please fund my shopping sprees."
On that profound note, I’m signing off.
I’m gonna sleep, have beautiful dreams and wake up impossibly-fresh looking.
I gotta go to my aesthetician later for a last minute session, followed by a pedicure.
Also, thought you’d want to know, I won’t bring my 17-inch sony vaio laptop with me. I’m on a full-scale retail and conspicuous
consumption shopping expedition and a computer is nothing but nuisance.
I’ll be back either Wednesday night or Thursday — depends on when my travel buddy wants to go home.
By the meantime, validate my existence you mere mortals. Bombard my email account with messages (and pictures) of you holding a DIY "I Love/<3 Bryanboy" sign. firstname.lastname@example.org or +63-915-785-1492. Text messages are accepted. No phone calls please. I *NEVER* answer phone calls from numbers I don’t know.
I love you all!!