I could spit on a stranger.

I’ll admit it, I’m pretty much high. High up, as in, really really high. My eyeballs are gouging out of their sockets and everything is one big fat blur. But it doesn’t matter because, I think, nothing will ever be clear.

Snap back to where I was standing. I’m all alone in my house today. No parents, no brothers, nothing. Literally alone. If I had a girlfriend, she’ll be all over me by now. But I don’t, so hehe fuck that. I could buy some hooker from the skin market in the center of the city. Or maybe not.

I’m really pissed off at my walls right now. They’re too bright and yellow and it hurts my sensitive little eyes. In one corner of my room, a huge mural of Spongebob Squarepants (neckties and all) smiling giddily in front of me. I gotta say, sometimes it amuses me, but at times like these it really scares the living shit out of me.

Imagine, Spongebob Squarepants in all his Squarepanted glory smiling and gleaming in front of you while you stare at it for hours and hours.  That’s pretty fucked up, eh?

Over here at my right are three very distinctive things. A Pulp Fiction poster, another mural but this time of Emily the Strange, and my very first venture into child pornography. The only thing that I’m truly worried about is the one in the middle. The Emily the Strange mural. Well, first of all, it’s strange. Then this kind of reminded me of my early days as  a Chicosci-slash-Typecast ramblings. To which I discovered was a tiresome piece of shit.

My very first venture into child pornography? Don’t ask. It’s just a picture of me with my weiner being blocked out by my cute tiny feet. I do have that “Pampers” baby look. You know, the one who always seems so happy and gleefull and shit? Is there such a word as gleeful? What does it even mean and does it truly exist?

Beats me.

Anyway, I can certainly feel the kick of all these things inside of me. There goes the instant spaghetti that I cooked 20 minutes ago. Forget that it’s 2:23AM man, you gotta do this to redeem your salvation. Everyone thinks you’re a no-good stoner, but you have to prove them otherwise. Ya, digg?

Let’s talk about Peach, Plum, Pear, which is so obviously the absolute soundtrack to my ears as of press time. Well, we did some covers and shit, but the original song will always be better. The na-na-na-na’s are very uplifting and well, whatever. I was riding its back when it used to ride me.

You know the drill… sing bitches, sing! And I am blue! I am blue and unwell!

It’s amazing how one thing could exist even if you have no need of it as of the moment. You know? I mean, what if this keyboard that I’m typing on would not exist if I’m not using it. By the time that you’ve decided that you’re gonna use the keyboard, that’s the time that it would then suddenly exist. Wouldn’t it be awesome? You know, things would not exist if you have no need for it. I don’t want this fucking CD, then don’t exist you fucking cd. Yes, something like that.

Spongebob is still gawking at me. It scares me much.

I, somehow, feel like everyday is a New Year celebration. You have all these wonderful things to do, which you aren’t gonna finish anyway, right? Well, that’s it. It just feels like somewhat of a new year. I know, it’s a new day, but fuck you for being snotty.

I hate Miggy Chavez and Mini Chavez. I do hope that since I have no need for them, they just would not exist anymore. They’re like these huge evil clones of things that aren’t meant to be cloned, but lulzy scientists clone them anyway. You know, that sort of stuff.

So, Ben Gibbard is like up for shizz, right? He’s totally cool and grool with everything. The man could practically do anything. He’s fucking awesome. If there’s a guy that I’d want to lose my homosexual virginity to, then Ben Gibbard’s that man. Benjamin, alavet! But really,  Ben Gibbard is awesome. He’s awesome. And yeas, awesome.

My throat is really really dry, it’s like an unlubricated vagina. I’ve read from a magazine that foreplay should be first taken into consideration so that the vagina would be lubricated well. If the vagina is not lubricated well and the penis is inserted, then the vaginal walls could bleed resulting to AIDS and other yucky stuff.

There’s a stack of random people wanting to be friends with me on myspace. But I think that they should all just, leave me alone. Haha. How emo. But really, it sucks so bad. Anyhoo, let’s go back to where we were before, Justin Timberlake. Justin is the shizzz man, he’s really really awesome and he’s like a totally hot version of me. I mean, if I ever shred a couple of pounds, I would totally look like Justin Timberlake.

I think the ultimate song for jonzin’ would be the ones from Neutral Milk Hotel. They’re so soft and sweet and well, perfect for the entire slowness of the entire universe. Plus, those crazy lyrics and the trippy synthesizers, it’s unmissable man.

That dude from The O.C. Oliver Trask, was his name Oliver Trask? Well, anyway, it was something like that. The one who “tried” to get Seth and the guys inside a Rooney concert. Dude? Rooney, are they fucking serious. It’s so faggy. Anyway, while watching that episode, during the commercials, there was this ad for an Oasis thingamajig. I totally flashed my entire memory and thought about this one song. After a couple of hours, I’ve finally decided that the song that I’ve been thinking of was “Don’t Look Back In Anger” I shrugged a bit after that thought and continued with what I was doing–Breathing.

If we ever talk about the V day, then I would totally flip. It’s very much fucked up, as you can see from a series of unfortunate events, it became really really shitty. But anyone, I do not blame people for the course of that so-called “thing.” It happened, and shit happens, so that’s like a fair thing, eh?

Honest to blog, I’m over it.  If you ever look for stuff, that includes my Aunt or someone else, then you’re in big trouble. I don’t really know why you’re in big trouble. But somehow, I think it’s because she’s a big fella, and you’re such a puny motherpunter, so go figure, eh?

Alam mo ba pare kung bakit tinawag na “Paranaque” ang Paranaque? Ganito yan, noong unang panahon meron nang mga jeeps and stuff. Tapos, siyempre we were ruled under the evil forces that is called the American-slash-Spanish-slash-insert-mananakop’s-name-here things. So one day, isang araw, this American dude went to ride one of them jeepney’s. When he wanted to come down of it, he couldn’t do so. So instead of going down and screaming like a banshee, that American dude just observed the lowly Filipinos around him. Then this one peasant Filipino dude went down the jeep and said:

“Para na ako, manong tsuper!”

So the american dude tried to mimic the entire verbatim of the lowly Filipino peasant dude who wears ratted clothes because we’re such a country stricken by poverty and Edison Chen scandals and shit. Anyway, the American dude said: “Para na akee!”

Hence, Paranaque.

Another useless information for those living in The BF, not the OC or the QC. It’s BF beybeh. BF as in Best Friends or Best Friends, or Booty Fuck. Or something.

Colbie Caillat is absolutely the biggest guilty pleasure of mine as of this time. She laid out a serious debut album and even put some her little myspace touches that’s totally in for the myspace generation (which somehow, at one point, I got involved in it, ya know? Same thing with VCF, I attended the VCF church in one of them malls around the city just to meet chicks from exclusive private Jeebus-freak school. But I got nothing. They’re all stuck up little greedy bitches. like Blair et Serena). Colbie is awesomeness in such a nice little curly faux-blonde hair. No sarcasm impiled, I really like her album much.

My hands smell of garlic. It was because of the thing I cooked a little while ago. It was chopped cheesedogs in oyster sauce. It’s pretty fatty thing to cook. Hence I am fat. But anyway, it’s really really delish. I’ll tell you now if only I wasn’t zoning out much.

Oh yeah, Jessica Alba sucked in The Eye. It was just noise.

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It’s 3AM and bow, that was my free writing whilst flying free exercise.