Thursday, April 12, 2007

TU

TU as in Tang-ina U!

Now I have a reason not to vote for the staTUs quo that is the Team Unity. You know they have this monstrous tarp which features all the senatoriables in their slate which practically parades their attention-grabbing faces for everybody to ogle at, not to mention make fun of. Was it GMA who said that the polls are going to be machinery vs. popularity? Huh, talk about machinery. Something smells tilapia in here. 'Hello Garci?' But that's stating the obvious.

When I came home from dinner last night, this moronic tarp with the TU bets was hanged just outside our place, in the corner where I usually ride the traysikad on the way to work. We live in this run-down wooden structure in near-collapse with five other families, which is the second lot before this corner, so its very obvious from even a mere peep in the windows. In this corner I'm talking about, they attached the moronic tarp to the two adjacent camachile trees with one-meter wide in distance. Between these two trees is a wooden plank, where I like to sit and do most of my thinking or un-thinking, where I make sense of the nonsense, where I animate inanimate things. Thanks to this moronic tarp which practically made it impossible for me to do that less I look like a decapitated body or a resident lunatic, I have to wait after the stupid polls to sit on that philosophical wooden plank again.

2 comments:

ladyfrances said...

bien considéré.
les grands espirits se recontrent!

jayclops said...

non considéré!

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting