Here’s a little act of kindness (and of course, publicity) for those who give it to me.
As some of you know, I ocassionally check sites that refer to my site from time to time. I like to keep track of what’s going on around the world, where my site is being talked about, etc.
You see, I’m a certified A-grade hoarder. I hoard clothes, bags, accessories and such.
Heck, I even hoard love, attention and hate mail.
Anyhoo, there’s another entertaining thread on some Filipino forum somewhere. Trust me, there’s quite a few hilarious posts there.
One thing in particular is this ‘Foxistar’ person who is certainly sure that I want to be a girl but even a sex change can’t change the truth… no amount of money will make me a girl.
It looks like this fucker knows me more than I know myself.
(BTW, I’m not sure whether or not posters can re-edit their posts once they’ve posted on the boards but I wouldn’t be surprised if s/he took it off. Anyway, at least I know… and have seen better)
A sex change?
Me being a girl?
Why on earth would I want mussels on my crotch when I love being a boy, I love my cock, I like jacking off and being jacked off?
I’m not THAT deranged to turn myself into a vagina.
Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.
In any case, isn’t it just adorable?
What’s even more amazing is when this wart-faced douche bag emailed me earlier today.
Then I replied… and he replied…
If I was a handbag designer, there’s no way I’d email "ugly, gay, almost famous" people who WANTS TO GET A SEX CHANGE out of the blue and bribe them with handbag endorsements in exchange for free publicity.
The right way to do it bitch is to at least kiss my ass, worship the third world soil I’m standing on and tell me I’m fucking gorgeous, fabulous, sexy and all things patronizing that you can think of. Once I’ve promoted you, then you can start the backstabbing and the filth.
Not the other way around.
Alas, you did quite the opposite.
I hope my efforts in giving you publicity pay off.
I just fucking love it. People will go to great lengths just to use you… kiss your ass, say bad shit about you, etc.
When the only thing I want to do is to have fuckin fun.
Nevertheless, I’m glad there are people out there – and these are the people who really MATTER – friends and genuine people – who know better. People who will never judge me based on what they see initially, but based on their own personal experiences of/with ME.
You know who you guys are and I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
I know I OWE absolutely no one any explanation – as you guys have told me over and over again – but it’s things like this that I can’t bear. Don’t worry, I’ll most definitely fine-tune myself and learn to adapt based on my experiences.
Back to the handbag bitch… who’s the bigger loser now?
Because I’ve let myself used and gave what s/he wanted.
But frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck.
Look mate, your handbag concept is nice, in fact, a handful of your bags are quite cool, but your attitude fuckin stinks. Whether or not you get something out of this post you at least owe me a couple of handbags.
May you rot in handbag hell.
*runs off to get a Fendi Spy bag in white mink*
La La Lacoste
As Fashion Week in New York goes into full swing, photos are flooding in, particuary the ones from Lacoste.
I knew s/he’s gonna reply in a heartbeat. S/he’s on
THEN WHO THE HELL WERE YOU TARGETTING?
As always, y’all know my email address. email@example.com.
Oh my fucking god.
The Cosmo Magazine Bachelor’s Bash was a blast.
I unleashed the inner Seventeen-magazine (ok… more like Teen Beat with JTT and Andrew Keegan on it… yuck..) reading teenage girl from within.
Never in my entire life I have publicly screamed my heart out like a fuckin desperate bitch.
And never in my entire life I have seen a vast number of faggots and females screaming their hearts out like fucking bitches in heat.
But yeah… I’m telling you, I probably spent a good half hour screaming "oh my god (because a lot of them were buttons, buttons, buttons – thanks IMS-E.)" and shrieking with my hands up in the air telling "I love you" to any random guy with a bulge on their crotch.
Whereas the girls behind me were going "Marry me _____!!" or "I wanna have babies _____!"
The place was friggin full, crowded and hot – my top was literally drenched with sweat when I went out of the tent… thank GOD I brought "back up" outfits with me in the car. No way I could’ve survived the night without changing clothes.
Let’s play pictionary for a bit.
What’s strange tho is I probably didn’t even see half of whatever happened there because I didn’t wear my contacts.
I was TOTALLY disappointed when I saw that Dennis Trillo person. I know he looks short in TV a`he looks fit.
But I didn’t expect him to be 4 feet 1 inch tall!
And the straight twin brother of my little "everyone-knows-he’s-homosexual-all-he-needs-to-do-is-to-come-out" eye candy thing wasn’t there either.
Enough of this ghetto local showbiz obsession nonsense. I revealed far too much about my deadly showbiz sins already. How so so lower middle class.
I look forward to next year’s bash.
Whatever happened after the bash is best kept to myself. All I know is I got home at around 7:30AM.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
# – Bryanboy loves people from Bendigo, VIC – Australia, Lambeth, London – UK, Burnaby, BC – Canada, Hildenborough, Kent – UK, Graz – Austria, Baulkam Hills, NSW – Australia and Sunbury, VIC – Australia. Bryanboy loves y’all and I wouldn’t hesitate to give each and every one of you sexual favors had I been to there.
#2 – Has anyone in this planet taken a sleeping pill/benzo which comes in small blue tablets with "P94" on one side of the pill? A friend gave me two of these last night and boy it helped me sleep! It was better than rivotril! I don’t know what they were called.
#3 – I can’t believe there’s nowhere in this city where one could go to (for booze/dancing/nice music/chill out/whatever) at 5-6AM. Anyway, me and a couple of friends ended up at Capone’s post-Fluxxe. Capone’s is this bar/small club where preppy Filipino (also known as "coño") kids go to.
I’m not feeling good today for some strange reason.
I feel sooo drowsy, cold and clammy.
I’ll update later. Email me as always, firstname.lastname@example.org.
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 email@example.com 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.
Fucking 6:10AM here.
I’m at a loss of words. Can’t function straight.
But a promise is a promise.
Booze or not, let’s play pictionary. Text to follow tomorrow.
I need to sleep.
Nevertheless, I love YOU ALL.
Especially Pepper Teeheknowswhoheis. And Rajo L., whom I never got to spend quality time to talk… but there’s always a next time I’m sure.
CRL – One phrase: THANK you.
Now back to pictionary…
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. firstname.lastname@example.org 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.