CRYWOLFING
According to our most reliable re-sour-ces, it’s signal no. 3 in Cavite.
Two
days ago, after receiving some late night news updates about a tropical
storm fast approaching the Philippines, I was jumping and shouting
(subconsciously) like Sarah Geronimo and her panty liner. Classes are
suspended in Metro Manila, including nearby provinces. Cavite is
spelled in capital letters on the rolling text. A storm mightier than
Milenyo and Winnie will unleash its hydrous devastation. Three super
typhoons in a row. No classes, alas. No electricity for several days, [*insert cuss words here]. No Ma’am Viado, No Ma’am Diloy, No Ma’am Ilagan. No Cavite State University. Just me and my El amor en los tiempos del cólera.
Few
hours later, PAGASA confirmed that tropical storm Reming changed its
course, directing its strongest winds in Mindoro as claimed by the
forecasts. Metro Manila inhabitants queered. Their smiles imply gimmick
and sleeping. But PAGASA further threatened that Reming can pre-empt
its direction. I smirked. Suffering is the understatement.
So I fully understand that we’re still gonna have bad weather since Reming’s coverage is humongously wide, not a single pinch of sky blue can be found
except the paint job in my room. In fact, signal no. 3 is raised here
in Cavite already. The storm warning purportedly states
semi-devastation; gales that would swish big tree branches along their
direction, and terra-cotta pots smashing in roarness galore. Oh, and
don’t forget the parakeets who seemed to silence themselves and produce
non-hatching eggs inside their cages. My fear of electricity outage is
on its peak. I can’t live without my electric fan.
10 hours have
passed. Mom succeeded drying my 7-kilo clothes. Teri is playing Legend
of Zelda. I can still hear Willie Revillame singing Boom Tarat. Right
now, it’s signal no. 1. I’m yawning.
I wanna throw a stone at PAG-ASA.
———-
Mike
Arroyo, and his bite-size wife Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (she does not
deserve the prefix) was rushed to the hospital. Some Myna bird told me
the fatso First Gentleman is undergoing an angioplasty. Blocked blood
vessels? Hahahaha.
And even GMA accompanied her. The hospital staff gagged their mouths to disclose any information about their confinement.
Last
week, they prompted to St. Luke’s Hospital for a so-called ‘executive
checkup’. The doctor assigned pronounced good health and long life for
both of them except Mike’s fats getting flabbier in direct proportion
to the amount he’s taking from our shipping line.
Gloria Arroyo
was confined to St. Luke’s six months ago because of diarrhea. The next
month, she was attacked with flu. The eve of my birthday owned her
executive checkup.
Awooo. I wish them fewer days to procrastinate.
————-
I
am happy to know that our adopted puppy, MC, has found better home in
the hands of my classmate Ara. Only us have the heart to take care of
the puppy religiously unlike my housemates who seemed to loved it when
it was still small and cute and not barking. They don’t even care about
its daily bathing, and of plasticity they claimed they loved the puppy,
loved dogs and finally their true colors showed their negligence to it
after growing up. I hate them.
———-
Stray cats seemed to have their guts up surging in our residence. Kapal ng mukha.
All they know is to flirt with humans for food. And after eating, they
scram, as if they don’t know anybody except at par some goon is trying
to catch them for siopao. Kapal talaga ng mukha. And they always make sure their leftovers are rolling everywhere. Napakakapal talaga ng mukha. We’ve attempted to extinguish them with rat poison, but their stomachs are tough.
Arrrgh. The nerve.
