the minutiae of migraines

had a weekend overnighter with the zombitch. i watched quentin tarantino cowboy up and the dude from casshern deflect bullets with a katana (hey, that was my idea, too, sensei!) in sukiyaki western django; she watched jang geum accomplish acts of anger against oh-dae su in sympathy for lady vengeance. she delegated three-fourths of bedspace to herself without my permission and i surrendered after fruitless negotiations with her snoring carcass. the next day, we woke up to a battle of guitar hero on my ps2, which i won of course, then left for lipa to meet up with a man who goes by the name obi (but still randell parcon to me). traversing the brand spankin new star tollway extension, we happened upon an "accident". she was taking pictures of us while i drove and i faked having lost control of the wheel. a series of shots to depict a make-believe car crash immediately followed. don't click here for the full "report". click here instead.

picked randell up from the side of the road and we hung out in sm city lipa. the pussycat dolls knockoffs were scheduled to perform later in the day so randell and i agreed to check em out and sport boners. the flightless harpy went home and us boys bounced over to robinsons to rebuild a triangle with teta. kristine a.k.a. teta was my mother-in-pretense back in high school. she's a real mom now and is happily married. she spilled all sorts of jellybeans on us, updating us on the goings-on regarding our batchmates. who married who, who's still single (like us), who died, who became successful, who suffered a bitter fate. after a quick pizza munch, we dropped teta off at her house and broke the speed limit to see the kitty girls shake their asses while holding phallic mics (the kitty kitty girls song with the k-i-t-t-y shit was that day's lss). but goddarn it we missed the performance and only caught a glimpse of jocelyn oxlade sucking a straw while they left the building. disappointed that he didnt get to flash his at the kitty girls, randell contacted our next date: wendy, my first ex-girlfriend.

in a cafe at robinson's sideskirts, wendy came with a guy whose name i forgot. she is engaged but not to this guy. anyways, talked about stuff that our conversation with teta didnt cover, with regular interruptions of my past with wendy. she repeatedly coaxed me to explain why i left her with nary a whimper of why. i refused to discuss the topic in front of uninvolved people. looking back, my reason was pretty stupid. but i was a boy, an innocent idealistic idiot in interrelationship issues. i cant even get my brain around how i courted her considering the fact that i was a complete wuss at that time. hmm, i surmise that i have some good luck with ensnaring girls but am ill-fortuned with keeping them. may i cross paths with my original half soon so i wouldn't have to play the abandoner anymore.

another pointless post, i know. i had some words lying around in my head unused so i cleaned up a bit to make room for new ones. thanks for enduring the pain.

p.s. i lugged around a friggin headache yesterday. and a shit-geyser the day before that.
p.p.s. iron man cometh!
p.p.p.s. kinda boring without a pic so...

blasphemous tumors

i just received this text message, which the sender, im sure, believes is pro-religion. to me, however, it is proof of the bullshit that the religious use to defend their beliefs. here it is verbatim:

a man thnkin 2 hav sum fun w/ a kid sed
"tel me wer GOD is & il giv u an apple"
d boy quickly rplied,
"il give u barrels of apples if u tel me wer HE is not"Ü

#1. this is how religious morons respond whenever their faith is questioned, meaning they don't actually respond directly.
#2. the boy can't actually give barrels of apples, meaning religious people always tempt you with promises that are false.
#3. that darn "smiley" seems to imply that the boy outsmarted the older dude. (apologies for the following gross argument but it's necessary for the point) the man should have fucked the boy's ass and said, "god, surely aint inside your ass right now, boy. where's my barrels of apples? let's see you carry them all at once, bitch!"

what? no thunder or lightning?

TAXI DRIVER by angel

Don “Skizzo Four-Eyes” Corleone introduced me to this blog to make a review about Old Boy but I don’t know how to construct the right words in that sick, mind-blowing, wickedly vengeful film. I need to mellow out from the old ultra-violence for my insomnia attack.

I think I am supposed to be sleeping at this time. But to be honest, I can’t really sleep, I’ve been insomniac for weeks now I don't know what it is I feel. I can't help but feel like some people don't care. I can't help but feel like I've put too much out, and now I can't get it back. I can't even visit memories anymore, because I can't regain the feelings I had. And because I can't figure out where to put my raging thoughts, I think more. And as I think more, I have more thoughts to place. So I keep piling them up, and I know that there's no cure for it.

The film “Taxi Driver” suddenly popped, since it’s my favorite Mr. Sandman-bring-me-a-dream flick, I thought I could give Mr. Four-Eyes Corleone’s invitation to be part of his movie mafia. My apologies for my incoherently erroneous construction of sentences and swearing my dear brothers and sisters so here it goes…

Taxi Driver was portrayed by Robert De Niro as Travis Bickle, a young man that is trying to be an anti-hero in his fucking neighborhood or his so called city to be living in. He’s a lonely Vietnam vet insomniac wanderer who is trying to find meaning in his life by trying to assassinate a presidential candidate and by attempting to rescue a teenage prostitute from the mean streets of New York, and trying to free this burnt out hole using violence. I’m talking about insanity without the draw back, It’s about this lonely desperate man who can’t fucking sleep and giving all the best he could by trying to court a beautiful girl named “Betsy” played by Cybill Shepherd.

I’ve seen all types of film from gore to sick but this one gives me the creeps. By the time I reach the fucking climax of this fucking movie, it gives me this sort of a butterfly effect on me fucking stomach. But the one that really bugs me is the time that Travis took Betsy in a fucking movie theater, wherein they actually played a series of this fucking triple X movie in front of the servile scums.

By the time Travis went on in an extended shoot out in a fucking apartment building to rescue Iris was exciting as hell can get. This is the time were in all hell breaks loose. The fucking musical score was awesome. Scorsese tried to manipulate the viewers mind by projecting the movie through it’s astonishing soundtrack that portrays the gritty streets of New York. The strongest moments of this film occur during De Niro's disturbing "You talkin' to me?" monologue, the malicious beating of a robber's corpse by a victimized store owner and Iris's sexually frank business routine displayed during Travis' paid visit to her carnal abode which Harvey Keitel keeps himself satisfied and full. Brutal and insane director Martin Scorsese's homicidally impulsed husband is a racially vulgar gem that epitomizes the insanity of this film, as does Travis' punk hair-do which represents his further disintegration into deluded insanity. But throughout out the film, De Niro act as if he is too drunk to act or he is just acting as himself. I also think that he’s a real badass hottie but not in a flashy kind of way though, and brings the silly fan girl in me *drools*

Ironically and tragically, Travis' assassination attempt on the Presidential candidate in this film inspired the shooting of President Ronald Reagan in 1981. The shooting was done by John Hinckley, in an attempt to impress Jodie Foster. All-in-all, this movie was the near best masterpiece of a brilliant and awesome director Martin Scorsese, and wouldn’t be made without the blistering performance of Robert De Niro and the rest of the cast, especially Jodie Foster who perfectly personified this teenage bitch in a pristine, unadulterated act. That’s all folks, I hope you liked it.

The Verdict: 9 pillows, a blanket and a dose of Valium

pirated playboy

on why i proclaim that playboy philippines promotes piracy: in a nutsack, that much-hyped new men's magazine sucked boogers. every guy i know who shelled out 200 bucks to buy one felt ripped off. they were inveigled by the glistening promise of female nudity that had historically caused playboy pages getting stuck together, only to behold barely any bareness. it is only fair to expect it, it is playboy, of course. when i was a teenager, playboy was a magic word. it was a proof of manhood. if you had playboy, you were a warrior perv. you could walk up to a couple of geeks talking about female buttshots in comics and whisper, "oh, yeah? i have playboy." and you got em worshiping your footsteps, wanting to borrow it.

now, the filipinized version has hit our shores, the dudes behind it running out of superlatives to boast it to the public. yes, they admitted that playboy philippines will not have naked chicks with peeking vaginas, only because of our country's conservative upbringing and tight religious grasp. so, why the heck did they even bother franchising it in the first place? easy answer: money. take a world renowned brand, strip away its essence, market it to the none-the-wiser and await the cash tsunami. they must have thought the playboy name could effortlessly squish the current mags to bits. sure, it can. it's playboy for garth's sakes. however, they bastardized hef's legacy the moment they stamped it with our country's name. a poor-quality playboy with zero nudity for double the price of the other mag? no thanks.

notice how every time a local singer has a new album out, they always say "buy the original, don't buy pirated cd's"? well, playboy philippines is saying the opposite: "this playboy is a knockoff of the original. you might see one nipple, but that's it. it's kind of like buying a pirated dvd where the title is not the same as what's inside." i haven't read it and i dont plan on purchasing a copy. they got me at "metal tray taking up a third of cover space".

p.s. shit i can't believe i wasted three paragraphs on playboy philippines.

for tomorrow

PLAYBOY PHILIPPINES PROMOTES PIRACY

heads up

this post was supposed to be something else (which still has no connection with the hottie pic of my imaginary girlfriend but who needs a reason, right?) but something came up and before im forced to make any more boner puns, i'll give it to you straight and hard (can't help it).

uno april is out! meaning, i'm a published writer now! woohoo! [happy dance] [confetti] [fireworks] [race winner spraying champagne] [a girl kicking a guy's nuts] grab a copy now, folks, before they run out again like the march issue! it has sexy pictures of sarah christophers as well but who gives a chimp's anus? it's got my debut-as-a-published-writer articles in it! so, go to the nearest reading materials store right now, point to the sky, tell the clerk "hey, what's that?" and pilfer the mag while they're not looking, (i hope no one's got enough stupid in their noggin to actually do what i just said) then run home and read it and tell me what you think. please?

aahhhhh. i'm done, babe. go ahead and smokey smoke.


p.s. it just keeps getting better. photoshoot!!!

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN by jaiskizzy

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

pitch slap #1: sherlock holmes

obligatory intro: when hollywood suffers an idea drought, producers turn to sequels, remakes and adaptations to keep the bills rolling. though i am a vanguard of creativity and originality, i do, however, have nothing against such resort, granted that it's good because, as we all know, while some do quite well, most attempts plummet to epic fail territory. so, here's my two centimos on what i believe hollywood should try next...

sherlock holmes is deemed the most filmed fictional character ever (followed by dracula). and yet, amidst all the hoopla of book adaptations, there's nary a single clue on any plans for a new sherlock holmes movie. since i dont think any producer would jump at a straightforward murder mystery, my concept is a "retooling" of the iconic detective, a whodunit mixed with a little action adventure a la indiana jones. sherlock holmes as an action hero? of course. he does fencing, boxing and some judo, too, i think, and so it's a not total departure from his character. just take a murder, pepper it with a conspiracy and have holmes and watson going places, beating bad guys, finding clues and solving the mystery just in time for the closing credits.

my plot would be an origin story with sherlock holmes vs. jack the ripper. the medical precision of the killings make dr. watson a suspect and then he bumps into sherlock holmes who is on the case. they rescue a would-victim named irene adler, whom holmes falls in love with. baddies show up and the trio realize there's something more to it than just a guy whacking whores. it could be that there's a secret government experiment that went wrong, maybe they're taking recently dead criminals and reviving them into assassins, and jack the ripper escaped or something. and then in the end, holmes finds out that professor moriarty had a part in it, in a possible-sequel ending.

my dream cast: there is no other actor on earth right now who is more fit to play holmes than hugh laurie. all he's got to do is basically play his most famous role to date, house, in his natural british accent but with more brooding and less negativity. cant see him wearing that deerstalker hat though. anyways, as for watson, i first envisioned philip seymour hoffman but i thought maybe the movie needed a little comic relief. and then it came to me, a bespectacled simon pegg as dr. watson. he's pulled from his dull doctor life and he's chronicling everything they do in a journal with hopes of publishing it in the future. put in a hot actress like kate winslet as irene adler and tobin bell as professor moriarty and you've got your new sherlock holmes movie. case closed (sheesh).

p.s. i have a hardbound book that has all the sherlock holmes short stories, unabridged and illustrated with the original artwork from the strand magazine. joyce, you're cute and all but please bring it back in one piece. or else.
p.p.s. you win, luna. needle it is. or he is.
p.p.p.s. "i'm not your friend, buddy." "i'm not your buddy, guy." "i'm not your guy, friend." i'm not your friend, buddy."

SEX AND DEATH 101 by jaiskizzy

the gist: an engaged dude's smooth life goes bumpy (or perfect, depending on perspective) when he receives an email containing a list of names of the women he'd had sex with in the past. but the list does not end with the name of his fiancee. there's even more names below it and soon he realizes that the rest are the ones he will screw in the future. how cool is that? of course, he does what any real man would do: call off the wedding and follow the list. meanwhile, a mysterious woman dubbed "death knell", played exquisitely by winona ryder (where have you been?), is going around town "killing" guys who have committed sex crimes. and so i ask, will this femme fatale and that fortuned fornicator find each other? but more importantly, where can i get my list?! come on!

the reaction: do you guys know the death clock? you know, the website where you do some inputs and it tells you the exact day you would supposedly die? if it's true, then mine's soon. it's still years away, but still pretty close. i oughta be doing some out of the country travels by now. anyways, i guess that's what the message of this movie is. what would you do with such knowledge? is it a gift or a curse? that polarity is well played in 101 as in one point, our horny hero has surrendered to his fate of fucking and then in another, buries the list in the ground to take back control of his life. and then there's the part where he's not through with the list, but he meets the woman he considers "the one". behind all of this is the oracle, the machine that sent the email, and the three men who run it, alpha, beta and fred. the oracle probably represents god who has given out predefined lives and the trio is the main character's conscience, although fred's the only one excited about what the list simply is for: sex with a lot of women. well, that's how i see it.

hmm. speaking of seeing, did you see good luck chuck? man, that movie sucked shitballs. despite having slightly similar premises (guy does a lot of girls), 101 beats chuck by acres. the only things good about chuck were jessica alba and the ridiculous amount of women that bared their bodies and bounced uglies with that lucky bastard dane cook. 101 doesnt have both. yes, there's some nudity but in a quantity too modest for a sex-oriented film. nice-assed natassia malthe covered her chest. there's even clothed sex. i guess the budget didnt suffice for more undressing. so cheers for sophie monk and the rest of the uninhibited ingenues for displaying the goods for the sake of perversion.

of course, 101 won't stand erect and mighty if not for the exceptional efforts of simon baker as the libidinous leading/ladies man. dont know who he is but when i watched the movie he kinda seemed familiar. after a quick trip to imdb, i found out that he was the guy in scorsese's hitchcock homage, the key to reserva. comparing the two entirely unalike roles, this dude's pretty good. and what about the actress named winona? she's terrific as death knell. she's hot and weird and silly and cute all at the same time. ive never seen her with so much cleavage. she really needs to resurface into mainstream and bring that with her. anyways, the one remember most in the movie is the guy who played fred. he's got great lines. he's like the guy at work or in school who always says something funny to break the tension and you're left with wishing you had said it. which is why i wonder how he landed that oracle job.

still cant point a phalange on what genre this film belongs. drama? nah. rom-com? probably. feel-good? yes. dark comedy? definitely. whatever, man. watching this is like hooking up with a nice girl you barely know, talking with her about the physics of life and then having slow, passionate sex afterwards. she may not be the best girl around but you sure had a great time with her.

the good: the story/script and the t&a.
the bad: the killjoys.
the ugly: the real cynthia rose.
the verdict: 7 names of women im gonna have sex with.


the one-winged angel of death (and sex).

a token of attitude

warning: more hate coming at you.

i hate being the one who knows most about computers in our house. being that, im always, always the go-to guy for pc-based stuff like online research, documents, troubleshooting, etc. im a very helpful person, but i dont like it when i have to provide help for the smallest, simplest of things. for example, the other day i was out with a witch when my brother texted me that the pc won't turn on. i couldn't see how being hundreds of miles away from home can allow me to fix that. our home pc clunks out sometimes, and when it happens and im not around, i always tell them "taktake." (which is batangueno for "itaktak" which is tagalog for "lift the front up a bit and let it drop"). i dont know why but none of them seem to get this quickie solution, even though it works all the time. anyways, so, im basically tired of getting calls or receiving text for help because i would assume that by now they know i'd obviously give the same reply.

i also hate the fact that people rely on the internet now so much. im quite good at finding info on the interwebs, but some just cant understand that if it aint there, i won't find it. also, not everything you see on a webpage is the truth or has anything to do with what you're trying to look for. especially those ads. dont just click them. anyways, im not saying these people are stupid. they're just lazy. we're all lazy about something. which i also hate because, when im lazy, i get a lot of flak, even though my laziness does not require some other person's efforts. but when they're being lazy and asking me to do their shit, they dont hear a thing from me.

so, thank you, blog.

SHUTTER (the remake) by jaiskizzy

the gist: the exceptional thai horror movie that starred piolo pascual is mangled to shitty bits in this unnecessary hollywood remake. a professional photographer goes to tokyo with his new wife for a job and after a mysterious car accident, they are haunted through pictures by a ghost from the past... oh, hell. fuck this shit!

allow me this one first: stop the asian horror movie remakes! seriously, stop it! filmmaker dudes, do not sell the rights to your masterpieces! do not be blinded by money! it's a trap! they'll turn it into crap! it's a crap trap!

this absolute piece of rotten animal feces is proof that nothing good comes out of hollywoodizing asian cinema. it just doesnt translate right. what they should do instead is bring the original film to their shores so that viewers can enjoy the film in its unadulterated form. here in shutter, they not only had complete disregard for the original, they even disrespected it by turning the thai film into a japanese one. that's just wrong. i dont care if the director is japanese and every crew member is japanese. they should have just made the whole thing in america. but even that wouldn't solve the film's big issue: it's a remake.

from frame one, anyone who has seen the original will surely see how it was destroyed. the leads are newlyweds and the vengeful ghost appears in pictures taken while they were having sex on the floor. the girl, that chick from transformers who isn't megan fox, later realizes that the ghost wasn't trying to scare her but was warning her from spending her life with an evil-secret-carrying husband. barfcakes. shouldn't she be warned before she actually marries the guy? then there's the entirely new location change of where the bad deed took place. the school is now an office and... wait, um, in the pictures with the models, the ghost gives clues by putting white streaks on a particular floor in the building in the background, which happens to be the office of the photographer's friend. but, the actual rape happens somewhere else. which makes no sense at all. and the ending is just horrible.

i could point out more shit but im starting to smell so i'd just end this review with an ellipsis...

the good: the chick from transformers (who isn't megan fox) taking off her top but it probably was a body double.
the bad: the acting, the changes, the non-scares, everything. gimme my money back!
the ugly: killing the ghost by flash bulb burning. uh, what?
the verdict: 1 long tongue french kiss.


shitter.

ride and gloom

"you hate too much."

so said the future lung cancer corpse named luna on one of our pedestrian pretensions. can't exactly remember what i said to make her surmise that. anyways, of course, i do. there is a lot to hate in this world, heck, in the philippines alone, so many that it i'd probably surpass the limit of the free cyberspace space allotted to me if i ranted about each one of them, especially the very broad ones like politicians. a diatribe of despise on them is like 15 blog posts worth already. if there's anyone with the audacity to waste time and brain cells on them.

so, i thought maybe it's better to stick to something specific. then, i told myself, "hey, handsome dude. what's up? write something about motorcycles with sound systems!"to which myself replied. "okay, cutie."

yes. i hate motorcycles with sound systems. i'd be walking down the street and this helmeted moron would come riding down the road in his audio-equipped moped, usually playing something annoying like soulja boy. i just don't get it. why? why would these bozos hook up their rides with speakers blasting out music like it's campaign season? because cars do? bullturd. the music stays inside (but it is, however, equally loathesome when a car drives by with open windows hip-hop bass blasting out). my father is a bike enthusiast and once belonged to a group of batangas-based big bikers that would regularly go on groups trips riding their two-wheeled machines. not one of them had sound systems. you know what i think? it's just plain arrogance, albeit nonsense arrogance. the car chaps, of course, kinda have a bit of bragging rights with their pimped-out car. still, bottomline is, a car is meant to take you from point a to point b. fill it with stickers, lights, hydraulics, put wings on it, it doesnt matter. it's still a car that gets you around, just like any other beaten up non-fancy car, which would definitely beat any of those lowered cars on a race through humped roads.

but back to the bikes. sound system on these scooters just dont make any sense at all. i strongly believe it should be against the law, as it contributes to noise pollution. if they insist on having music played while riding, then they should exercise their customization skills and put the speakers in their helmets. that way, i wouldn't have recurring thoughts of dropkicking them off their bikes when they pass by. the same goes for you commuters who keep playing mp3s on their phones even when the bus already has the radio/tv on. worse, they're lo w-quality mp3s on non-music cellphones. worser even, i once sat beside a guy who sang along to fergie's big girls don't cry. jesus h. christ.

im sorry if this entry started off straight and just suddenly veered into different directions.

cop: why can't you write your own name? are you drunk, punk?!

p.s. calling all movie reviewers! i need to tell you something.
p.p.s. i wonder if i'll get to kiss the lips of an angel tomorrow...
p.p.p.s. kitsch. damn right you are.

ONCE by jaiskizzy

the gist: a struggling musician takes his acoustic heartaches to the streets for a few bucks and meets a cute czech chick who has as much passion for music as he does. he plays the guitar, she, the piano and they immediately glue together, igniting the needed spark to each of their stagnant lives. from a magical music shop moment to a wondrous recording studio session, the nameless songsmiths find themselves in the dilemma of starting anew or patching things up with their pasts. will this love song of a movie end with them in a duet or doing solos? can i do this review without musical puns?

the reaction: ive been asked a lot of times if i play the guitar and i wonder, do i really carry a rockstar demeanor to cause that question? but i do wish i play the guitar sometimes. however, i dont, can't and probably won't for the rest of this life. i play the drums though. poorly. anyways, after watching this movie once (title, not number) i completely gave that wish up. because even if i did start learning to play now, i do not possess a singing voice that came close to half the power of glen's (the guy who plays...the guy in the film). dude sings with a lot of heart, and i really mean a lot. every song he sings, he sings with raw emotion, as if he's not actually singing and just telling you how he feels exactly and it just happened to have rhymes and a tune. given that he's a real musician, frontman of a band called the frames, and it was him who actually wrote the songs in real life and as portrayed in the film, but man, you could really see how much pain he endured and used to create the songs. when he starts screaming in "say it to me now" in the street, i didn't think he was crazy as i would if i saw someone do that in real life. but that's the thing: nobody's ever seen a real sidewalk singer perform like that. i think i'd be more likely to throw my money in if there was one. (i actually flicked a 20-peso bill at glen but it just bounced off the tv screen).

and there's, marketa, the cute czech chick i mentioned awhile ago. she doesnt have a name in the movie as well, but let's call her marketa so i wouldn't run out of synonyms for "girl". it was a great idea, by the way, to keep the characters unnamed, that they could be anyone, you, your friend, your friend's friend who cheated on your friend's girlfriend. anyways, like glen, marketa is also a real-life musician. her voice is sweet and she plays the piano without camera-angle cheats. again, you feel her love for music that when the two of them play and sing together for the first time, you will get goosebumps as i did. that was a great scene. a perfect (pitch perfect? tee-hee) translation of those jam sessions i used to have with my best friend luigi, even the ones over beer, with the "you do this, i do that" beginning and just melded together as you went along. what makes the scene work, i think, is the fact they're real people doing something they actually do in real life and not something they rehearsed over and over. it was like, the director just said, okay, you two do your thing and i'll just film it.

but that's where the only problem i have about the film comes in. they're non-actors. and when they do try to act, it slightly seems fake. cant blame them though but i guess the director could have tried something to bring over the realism of the scenes where the two leads where just being their real selves. oh and by the way, this is a love story, but more on the love for music and not too much on the love between glen and marketa. their musical "affair" serves as a mere buffer episode, like an rpg sidequest, so don't scratch your heads over the lack of actual contact or the ending. you're looking for the movie where, just by the halfway mark, the female lead has already cheated on her husband with a guy she barely knows. this aint it.

dont watch this movie if you are one of those people who feel like they dont have any talents because you'd probably hate your parents and wish you had one to be just as passionate on. a "modern-day musical" but not quite, i highly recommend this one with what little credibility i have. okay. im gonna go bang on my drums for a while...


the good: the songs, the shots, the realism
the bad: when the non-actors act
the ugly: the holes on the guy's guitar
the verdict: 9 vacuum cleaners


he who cannot sing.