I am confirming the news: MMDA Chairman Bayani Fernando's posters have already invaded this little town in Laguna. Those lifesize posters bearing a face which is the farthest semblance to aesthetics and proper governance harass—emphasis on ass—the mind and eyes, doing just that as it reeks with political agenda every way you look at it, literally and figuratively. On the face of it, the poster is guised with the idea of reminding the people about the law and the need to align ourselves with proper etiquette. But that's all there is to it, the face of it. Now if that isn't horrendous enough, imagine stamping the forbidding, ominous countenance of a presidentiable on each of the hundreds, if not thousands, of posters scattered along the roads. The horrendous thought is multiplied by an infinite depression of beauty and all that has something to do with the exact opposite of a sound government.
As for the blind item...
Several days ago, my better half and I were on our way home. We managed to walk along the sidewalk on that warm and relaxing afternoon, like the ones you often see in movies. All was well and good like a fairytale when lo and behold an appalling image came before our sight, striking our cord of bewilderment the first instance our eyes set themselves on the pink poster hanging on one of the street posts. A few meters ahead, a couple of men were still busy nailing the edges of another poster on the next street post, done with the help of a truck from one of the offices in the Metro with the authority for developing what it wants to develop. We thought, how and when in the world did we become a part of Metro Manila? The last time I checked, not even Calamba, the city sitting between Los Baños and the Metro, is under the jurisdiction of this development authority. So what in Barabbas' name is happening here? A fairytale-turned-nightmare?
Well, the sane brain can only deduct one thing, which is that this government official is trying to extend his arms around Luzon, in the hopes of gaining political advantage over his would-be contenders in 2010. The worst part of it is that he—no, not he but it, given that this isn't what a sane human being will do—can bend the limits of the law to further its vile ends. The worst part of it is that it can funnel government funds to its personal political flask even under the brightness of the day. What more in the darkness of the night, under the tables, when every watchful eye is resting after another day of heavy scrutinizing? What more under the veil of executive privilege?
This abominable pseudo-human being is infamous for castigating the wretched lives of street vendors and almost anybody else attempting to occupy the sides of the streets for a decent living. But that's beside the point. The iron fist of this ogre knows little to no mercy, save for a thirst for self-preservation that can only be quenched by a deluge of support from its minions. Its unspeakable gluttony, its unfathomable narcissism that goes deeper than the deepest gullies of the universe, all of these can add only to no more than half of its deranged identity. Its name reminds us not of what heroes do. It reminds us of everything farcical, everything sullied by the hands that pulverize all the goodness within.
I am deeply sorry for this bacteria, but genuflect we will not. This organism has reduced itself to an obscure piece of aggregated cells. We will not bow down to this irresponsible creature whose reputation speaks the entire opposite of development and authority. This organism pretending to be a godhead, or wanting to be one beyond 2010, is plating us a terrible foresight: if it can do this now, this fiddling with the people's treasury all for the sake of personal political ambition, there's no chance in 13th hell it can't and won't be doing the same, if not more than that in the coming days, especially when it is already able to screw and bolt its gluteus maximus on the presidential seat. This barong-clad parasite has a blatant disregard for the public, pissing on our faces while it sports a serious and ghastly countenance that is anything but cute, and yet it does more by poking our eyes with its cryptic face.
I've said this before and I'm saying it again. This fluke isn't a hero, or is the least in the history of human civilization to ever become one. This trematoda can't be trusted; its parasitic ways of fiddling with the government's resources to fatten its ambitions, churning out whatever excuse it sees fit to defend its maneuvers, aren't worthy of our trust. The only trust this demented organism can be of any worth is the one you see sold in cashiers or store counters, that rubbery and oily material of assorted flavors that seeks to stop the flourishing of life in literal ways. That's one way of putting it.
And quite another. This crab with a thick carapace for a face is no more than a quasi-Nazi authoritarian hiding beneath corrupted wool. Yet it is adamant at proclaiming that all its troubles and efforts have nothing to do with its political hallucinations, swearing before the public that, yes, this organism is running for public office in 2010 and, no, its narcissistic deeds have nothing to do with its ambition. It must be talking to its hand.
How can this monster not see the trouble it has caused not only unto itself but to us? How can this serpent not see the monumental grotesqueness of his deeds? How in sensibility's name can this malevolent being not see the obviousness of its ploy?
But this is a blind item. Literally, this organism is no more and no less than that, a blind item, perhaps the blindest of them all.
As for the blind item...
Several days ago, my better half and I were on our way home. We managed to walk along the sidewalk on that warm and relaxing afternoon, like the ones you often see in movies. All was well and good like a fairytale when lo and behold an appalling image came before our sight, striking our cord of bewilderment the first instance our eyes set themselves on the pink poster hanging on one of the street posts. A few meters ahead, a couple of men were still busy nailing the edges of another poster on the next street post, done with the help of a truck from one of the offices in the Metro with the authority for developing what it wants to develop. We thought, how and when in the world did we become a part of Metro Manila? The last time I checked, not even Calamba, the city sitting between Los Baños and the Metro, is under the jurisdiction of this development authority. So what in Barabbas' name is happening here? A fairytale-turned-nightmare?
Well, the sane brain can only deduct one thing, which is that this government official is trying to extend his arms around Luzon, in the hopes of gaining political advantage over his would-be contenders in 2010. The worst part of it is that he—no, not he but it, given that this isn't what a sane human being will do—can bend the limits of the law to further its vile ends. The worst part of it is that it can funnel government funds to its personal political flask even under the brightness of the day. What more in the darkness of the night, under the tables, when every watchful eye is resting after another day of heavy scrutinizing? What more under the veil of executive privilege?
This abominable pseudo-human being is infamous for castigating the wretched lives of street vendors and almost anybody else attempting to occupy the sides of the streets for a decent living. But that's beside the point. The iron fist of this ogre knows little to no mercy, save for a thirst for self-preservation that can only be quenched by a deluge of support from its minions. Its unspeakable gluttony, its unfathomable narcissism that goes deeper than the deepest gullies of the universe, all of these can add only to no more than half of its deranged identity. Its name reminds us not of what heroes do. It reminds us of everything farcical, everything sullied by the hands that pulverize all the goodness within.
I am deeply sorry for this bacteria, but genuflect we will not. This organism has reduced itself to an obscure piece of aggregated cells. We will not bow down to this irresponsible creature whose reputation speaks the entire opposite of development and authority. This organism pretending to be a godhead, or wanting to be one beyond 2010, is plating us a terrible foresight: if it can do this now, this fiddling with the people's treasury all for the sake of personal political ambition, there's no chance in 13th hell it can't and won't be doing the same, if not more than that in the coming days, especially when it is already able to screw and bolt its gluteus maximus on the presidential seat. This barong-clad parasite has a blatant disregard for the public, pissing on our faces while it sports a serious and ghastly countenance that is anything but cute, and yet it does more by poking our eyes with its cryptic face.
I've said this before and I'm saying it again. This fluke isn't a hero, or is the least in the history of human civilization to ever become one. This trematoda can't be trusted; its parasitic ways of fiddling with the government's resources to fatten its ambitions, churning out whatever excuse it sees fit to defend its maneuvers, aren't worthy of our trust. The only trust this demented organism can be of any worth is the one you see sold in cashiers or store counters, that rubbery and oily material of assorted flavors that seeks to stop the flourishing of life in literal ways. That's one way of putting it.
And quite another. This crab with a thick carapace for a face is no more than a quasi-Nazi authoritarian hiding beneath corrupted wool. Yet it is adamant at proclaiming that all its troubles and efforts have nothing to do with its political hallucinations, swearing before the public that, yes, this organism is running for public office in 2010 and, no, its narcissistic deeds have nothing to do with its ambition. It must be talking to its hand.
How can this monster not see the trouble it has caused not only unto itself but to us? How can this serpent not see the monumental grotesqueness of his deeds? How in sensibility's name can this malevolent being not see the obviousness of its ploy?
But this is a blind item. Literally, this organism is no more and no less than that, a blind item, perhaps the blindest of them all.
|