The Tale of Feeble the Fart

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The Tale of Feeble the Fart

December 10, 2008

Once upon a time there was a Baguio boy-reluctantly-turned-Manila lad who, after getting bored over air-cooling in the smallest mall he’s ever had the chance to kill the time in the oh-so-fuckin’-polluted airs of Manila, decided to go to capitalistic SM Megamall out of the blue. Let us call the male protagonist of this stupid modern tale Lio Loco.

Now this Lio Loco, being raised in the provincial suburbs and having exercised his geographical prowess only to the extent of crossing the pedestrian lanes in pickpocket-infested and pseudo-herbal-roots-in-a-jar-peddling Recto, texted a colleague on how to go to he wretched giant air-conditioning unit in Ortigas and was given two options: via the Quiapo way and hail an FX en route to SM Megamall or via the Cubao jeepney course and hitch a bus ride going to Ortigas. Fearing to be mobbed by a pack of hungry hawkers scattered nearby the famed Basilica of the Black Nazarene, Lio Loco chose the latter and got thrilled to be exposed to an unknown territory.

While Lio Loco was on the jeepney, fate threw in some quirky characters straight from Roald Dahl’s novels for company. There was the band of stupid colegiala’s from some Asian Thingy University (he knew the name of the school because he was able to look at their name plates conspicuously pinned in their ~~huge, love-to-be-sucked mammaries~~ breast pockets) who, at every pit stop, found it oddly exhilarating to snort like mad hyenas. There was the brown Sleeping Beauty of Payatas who thought sleeping inside a moving vehicle is advisable, never mind if her constant nodding and stinking drool elicited laughter from the already-demented student sluts. There was the shrinking silver-haired passenger who, in his distant daydreaming, found there’s completely nothing wrong with wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of Arizona boots of a forgotten Hollywood era in a country that curses and celebrates the sweltering heat at the same time (depending on where you are geographically located).

After minutes upon minutes of oh-so-fuckingly-insane picture of twisted reality TV blurring in his head, Lio Loco trusted whatever sheer instincts he had and decided to alight in an alley under a recognizable overpass where an infamous (or famous, if you’re one of the patrons) hotel promoting sex as a pastime (like a dessert after a hot, delicious bulalo meal) is located nearby. His subconscious told him to ask someone where the fuck exactly do you have to take a ride to go to SM Megamall but his manly pride got the better of him. So he walked quite a long stretch until he found his way to a zone where rows upon rows of buses abound. He observed his new ecosystem, looking at how people alight and board from one bus to another and was rewarded for his patience for within a striking distance, a barker with a bad case of halitosis harked out, “SM! SM Megamall! Ayala! Ayala!”.

To cut the long chase, because I know you’re getting bored over this fuckin’ tale shit, Lio Loco was able to go to SM Megamall but got lost again finding National Book Store. It has always been the first in his itinerary, whenever he visits a mall – to first off get to a nearby bookshop. More than anything else, he loves to get lost in alternative realms, in the flighty mountains trailing to Mordor or within the reclusive insides of Hogwarts Express or in the queer underground entrails of London as depicted by Gaiman. He could be lost for hours without any care, never mind if his stomach is in the mood of protestations to get fed, because deep inside these very pages he could just be whatever he wants to be; there are no eerie people marionettes blindly following some written rules with hypocrisy or bitchin’ clusterfuck society dictating the norms.

So it was that Lio Loco finally asked the wicked bitches of the Information Desk where his first pit stop was and proceeded to take the moving stairs up the fourth floor. He rummaged over the sweet feast for the eyes and brain with delight and found himself lost again in the land of make-believe these “pen people” have so effortlessly created. He loved the odd scent of the printed papers, whose every page lies the children of letters and words and sentences dancing madly in the wind, breathing his escape from stagnance and oh-so-sickeningly-fucked-up social incarceration. And only after satiating his hunger for the printed word did he remember that it was the last day for reserving a copy of Rowling’s The Tales of Beedle the Bard and rushed to the Customer Information lady for the reservation. Unfortunately, though, the friendly NBS lady informed him it was in Powerbooks that he could enlist for the reservation so on he hopped to the next bookstore.

And this is where we find the hero of our story in combat with reality’s vile and wicked characters. For after getting the receipt from the counter and deciding to stay for awhile to peruse over a thin-bound entitled “Tikman ang Langit: An Anthology on the Eraserheads” that piqued his curiosity (anything with the Erasherheads label will make him look again), Lio Loco found it hard to concentrate and digest the essays paying tribute to his favorite OPM band because he was slowly dying of air pollution in spite of the smoke-free air-conditioning that the neatly styled bookstore was churning out. He suspected it was the fat lady to his right whose armpits were as tight as some eternal virgin’s pussy that was polluting the air. He tried to ignore the foul smell and slightly positioned himself to his left side but much to his dismay, The-BO-That-Must-Not-Be-Smelled continued to wreak havoc, intoxicating Lio Loco’s nostrils with the vilest and foulest smell ever created in the entire macrocosm. Lio Loco tried, and tried, but he could endure it no more and so he wished this friggin’ bitch babe that she receive a year’s supply of “tawas” for free.

He transferred seat and this time found himself again in such an unfavorable dilemma. For while the bench was undoubtedly free of cheap, B-list “putok” from down under, this time around it was filled with unnecessary hysteria bordering to lunacy. Here was a young woman who was so into Jessica Zafra’s Twisted 8 read that she forgot she was in a public place for chrissake. Oh for the love of gawd, the demented idiot echoed every Zafra sarcasm with a stupid laughter from some Mandaluyong asylum hall, like telling to the entire, freakin’ human race that yes, Virginia, she could read and she has a literary taste for picking up a book like Jessica’s ironies. Oh puh-leaze, Miss Pseudo-Literati from Hell, just because you picked up a worthwhile read does not mean you’re already into the elite book circle. Your theatrics annoy me so go home and fuck your schlong-deprived clit.

Oh, geez! Now this is not a once-upon-a-time fairy tale for the children anymore. I, the narrator, am beginning to rant a verbal barrage of profane R18 invectives. And so Lio Loco went home, far from the stupid chuckles of the moronic pseudo-bibliophile from hell and the dizzying underarm spell of the body odor bitch, and he lived happily ever after.

Posted by ssdd at 8:09 pm | permalink

Previous Comments

you have to teach me this brand of profanity. haha. and btw, i was stuck between the thighs of corpo life for years but one day, i decided to let my self slip. now, im like a drop of semen. haha.

btw- it’s good to know that you read a lot. i can’t do that. so if asked (which constantly happens) who my fave writer is: i can’t name one. but i love Charles Bukowski. You will love him if you Google now. 1 2 3

Posted by tinay at December 10, 2008, 9:28 pm

@tinay: dunno. comes out naturally i guess. i’m better cussing in vernacular.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
wish i could be you, a free spirit. but social responsibility took that away from me just a few years ago. now i have to rot in this fucked up corporate yuppie tag for awhile i guess.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
yep.i’m a self-confessed bibliophile. i read anything that has print in it, porn magazines included. haha!
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same here. i do not have a favorite in particular, but stephen king would be one of those i highly regard up there. btw, just so you know, his stories taught me the art of bitchingly good profanity. googled your bukowski and here’s what wiki has to say and i quote: “Bukowski’s writing…is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of marginalized poor American Whites, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, the drudgery of work, and horseracing”. queer combination of attractions. interesting!

Posted by ssdd at December 10, 2008, 10:38 pm

uhu. he is the Dirty Realist. i was supposed to be his mistress. oh well. if i were to choose what kind of mistress i’d be for him, i want to be Marla Singer from Fight Club. I don’t even know why am telling you this. tsktsk. what social responsibility are you referring to, to be exact? All i know is that, i have to be happy so that the society won’t get bloated with too much sad and dead people

im counting you out lio, we’re kindred souls. haha.

Posted by tinay at December 11, 2008, 10:55 pm

napadaan lang…
kick-ass mga post mo sir… 15 percent tina-translate ko pa sa CLUE…lalo na yung “Schlong-deprived clit” nyehehe…

i can’t wait for the next post.

cheers!

Posted by ålx at December 12, 2008, 12:13 am

@tinay: marla singer i know not. but i am aware fight club is penned by palahniuk, a writer fast becoming a favorite among some acquaintances. i need to get my hands on his work soon to find out why. whoever this marla singer is, i am assuming she’s bitchingly beautiful and insanely idiosyncratic like the poems you weave.
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by social responsibility i mean bearing with all the crap that all fatherhood entails. nope, i am still not a friggin’ father. gawd knows how much i cherish my bachelorhood as of the moment. it just so happened my dad became chicken shit when i was little, which meant my becoming a full-fledged family man for my sister and my mom.
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you are such an optimist. i could never be like that. i’m angst-ridden and pessimistic as you might have observed in my writings. society is full of sad and dead people and i am one of them. i do not conform. and i am an aberration tto this fucked up rule-conforming society.
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kindred souls? perhaps. perhaps. make me happy with the beautiful lines that you weave. cheers!

Posted by ssdd at December 12, 2008, 9:06 pm

@alx: salamat sa kick-ass na pagbati. tawagin mo na lamang ako sa pangalang lio (lee-yoh). maxadong pormal ang sir. hindi ako sanay. haha. 15 percent, trinatranslate mo pa sa clue? hmm…15 percent ng nilalaman ng mga post ko? nagbibigay ba ko ng clue? hahaha. nagustuhan mo talaga ang mga balahura kong salita no? sige. abangan ang susunod na kabanata.

Posted by ssdd at December 12, 2008, 9:26 pm

i must agree with tinay
you have to teach me
this brand of profanity!
hahaha

Posted by xG at December 14, 2008, 11:47 am

floodway lang ako.. napakalapit ko sa megamall sana nagpasama ka sakin eh di sinundo pa sana kita sa overpass sa tabi ng jollibee at hotel sogo.. lol

Posted by FerBert at December 14, 2008, 5:04 pm

@ xienah girl: it’s a way of living.
@ferbert: ganun ba? sige, next time, sisigaw ako ng “kokeymonster, andito na ko sa sogo!” lol! at pinangalanan mo talaga ang peyborit tambayan. hahaha.

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Breathing The SSDD Mantra

The Tale of Feeble the Fart

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google this narcissistic, angst-ridden bastard

send me your clusterfuck comments

there and back again

rag tag

ain't this friggin' narcissistic, angst-ridden bastard cute?

douche bag diatribe unlmtd.

most wanted fuck-me-Freddy's

i read, therefore i am... a narcissistic, angst-ridden bastard

go friggin' plagiarize others' works instead

been harry pottered since the philosopher's and when the saga died down in deathly hallows, i got pottered just the same...sigh!

one effin' proof why pinoys are waaay more superior than their occidental brethrens in the history of friggin' humanity

shaving off the angst-ridden bastardness in me (play with my hamster using your mouse pointer)

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yes, i want a piece of you! got a problem with that?