tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-97593562026-10-18T07:56:12.991+08:00It could be worse, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts.Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.comBlogger474125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-59365849677139789682017-01-13T15:33:00.000+08:002017-01-15T15:35:52.248+08:00

**I have written a "maybe" insensitive post about somebody with HIV. However, I am giving myself a week to decide whether to publish or otherwise. I know I'm a jerk, and I could be an extremist jerk, and I know what I wrote could ignite needless debate. The truth is I no longer engage in comments wars because such litter are just as useful to me as a punch in the face. Like the nearly

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-24236791780859755492017-01-06T21:57:00.000+08:002017-01-08T21:58:49.726+08:00

**I have no idea what I wrote here, but I like it. Maybe it's a one-sentence story.  There was a call center homo who lived a thoroughly boring life that nobody cared to know him and so they didn't. End of story.

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-81088589114184386692016-12-30T22:35:00.000+08:002017-01-01T22:36:17.823+08:00

**Have you kissed your digits goodbye yet? Here's to you and your fireworks.

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-19297931267597845052016-12-23T22:32:00.000+08:002017-01-01T22:33:57.084+08:00

I've never had a bad Christmas until that one in 95. My mother, she's a doll I tell you, and she was wrapping singulary empty gift boxes. She was more like preparing them for display than having them summarize the holidays with new stuff on Christmas morning. She had enough money for boxes, gift wrap, and tape, but not enough for actual presents. I was never a brat, but there was still some

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-16124067418836542462016-12-16T18:50:00.000+08:002016-12-16T18:50:13.845+08:00

**Of course, I am not referring to ALL of them, but there are certain drivers who give you THE impression that they all attended the same dipshit taxi driver college. **Meanwhile, I first wrote this six years ago, December 10, 2010. I felt like reposting this now on account of I sort of miss the interaction I had with my readers then. Plus I am still licking scratch wounds somewhere, and that

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-23636422203229667322016-12-09T18:47:00.000+08:002016-12-16T18:51:16.709+08:00

**Cannibalized¹ and amended, all for your reading pleasure. Or displeasure. I've been writing about vaginas and breastfeeding recently, and I was supposed to follow suit with a helpful tip on where to get your offline porn. But it will be Halloween in a few days, so I gathered this will be better received. The last time I saw him was in Teriyaki Boy in the Mega Strip. We were four tables away

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-50546473408310458932016-12-02T19:41:00.000+08:002016-12-07T20:45:16.160+08:00

**This goes out to them perpetually pissed off sort of people whose disposition, come hell or high water, are always in direct proportion to the kind of things they have stuck up their ass. I'm sure you know somebody like him. There's this person I've known for close to five years now, and, thankfully, we're not friends. I see him almost every day, and what little pleasantries we've exchanged

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-13240168910014024472016-11-25T18:34:00.000+08:002016-11-27T18:37:10.263+08:00

I know you all might think that this is too sudden. But I've thought about this, really, and it is with inconsolable regret that I cry out this announcement:I am now prepared to completely discontinue this blog. And I have just signed up for a bigger house.Of course I'm pulling your legs right after your boxers, my Dearly Beloved. This is my house, and there's no leaving. My updates, as of the

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-87932965066477313592016-11-18T13:24:00.000+08:002016-11-20T13:25:44.254+08:00

I was told, just recently, that the reason I never get a good man is because I am easy to get. And you know what, My Dearly Beloved, something tells me that I should agree with this straight talking rock and roll tattooed friend. The past few assholes I've dated should be testimony enough. God damn it, I am easy to get, and I should make the right improvements. What happened last week? I was

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-54366318606002144812016-11-04T23:20:00.000+08:002016-11-05T23:20:38.445+08:00

You see, My Dearly Beloved, Section 7, which is the criminal charge that was filed against him, which is what I'll be referring to him now, Section 7 has been recently released from his incarceration, and I'm celebrating plenty now, because I get to sleep better after more than seven weeks.  There. 

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-86798469067545042572016-10-28T19:17:00.000+08:002016-10-29T19:25:29.754+08:00

**I posted this in 2011, and it's still wildly relevant today.  **Not enough Halloween fun to go around that we have to borrow some other country's crap? None of the people I knew growing up had to do trick or treat. We were so decidedly quasi-ghetto that my Halloweens were trips to the cemetery where we would make balls out of candle wax drippings. I know its primitive, and it sure

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-49504831775604016432016-10-21T19:35:00.000+08:002016-10-21T19:35:16.820+08:00

And you shouldn't have. I remember they were white, and they smelled of the cologne you wear after gym. We went out on two dates after that, and we shouldn't have. I also remember how you held my hand like you were stealing a kiss. This was before the flowers. We were drinking then, and it was after the first bottle of brandy that you asked me if I was seeing someone, and I said I'm no

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-57080079835598763612016-10-14T22:26:00.001+08:002016-10-14T22:26:49.902+08:00

**And I remember every written detail of it like it was copy pasted in this week's update. I'm still waiting for the next break up though. But I need to have something to break for that to happen. I'm not in anything like that as of this writing, so I guess I'll have to wait.   "No, I'm good. I'm okay with my Roman Catholic thing."  I was stunned at how easy and casual those words

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-2234150212544528902016-10-07T18:22:00.002+08:002016-10-07T18:23:19.893+08:00

Oh yesss, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, yesss, I think I am doing consistently well with my Friday updates. Which is why I deserve this last shit break for the year. 

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-53679359384708935672016-09-30T23:52:00.001+08:002016-09-30T23:52:32.334+08:00

**It is now four minutes to Saturday. This means I made this Friday's deadline. Awesome sauce. My cab driver swerved past this dead cat on the road because he said it was bad luck. It wasn't even black. It was red and mangled. And then he said it was "mas malas" (worse luck) to hit a live cat because that will be murder and the Virgin Mary will not like it. His name is Tys, for Tyson,

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-62686721692231027642016-09-23T19:33:00.001+08:002016-09-23T19:33:56.063+08:00

I've been in and out of prison these past couple of days. It will be a week tomorrow. Eighty of them crowd that cell, and it smells like death by armpit suffocation in there. This particular death is worse during the 6pm visits because it is usually at that time that half of Pasig Cirrehh's population gets the same idea, minus the "taking a bath" part, and visits. He testified negative in the

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-40995264024431216662016-09-16T08:02:00.000+08:002016-09-16T08:02:07.665+08:00

Do not get me wrong, My Dearly Beloved, I like to Facebook. See, nothing compares to the disappointment of finding out how much time you've wasted on other people's business. Absolutely nothing. There is masturbation, but that dedicated art of pounding dick at least erupts in this satisfying climax that is both familiar and addictive. Like-ing does not get you anywhere near the object of

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-22696787269292162702016-09-09T18:58:00.000+08:002016-09-09T18:58:57.988+08:00

**This is for You and Your "I have the lousiest air conditioned job in the world ever omgpls kill me now while I take a selfie."  Imagine two swollen legs on a pair of denim shorts.  The bandages on his diabetic legs were wrapped just below the knees and terminated on his ankles. They were a yellowish white, probably because they haven't been changed for a week or so. His left

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-76903734360431385292016-09-02T23:02:00.001+08:002016-09-02T23:02:40.476+08:00

**No. And it's still a Friday, and I made my deadline. Meanwhile, I do not fat shame. I love my friends of all sizes in equal measures. The thing is, you should have seen this pig in the mall.  I ask you now, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, with unusual sincerity and truthfulness to the letter. When was the last time someone's confidence made you horny? Was there ever a time, just one

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-56346215069673659452016-08-26T06:56:00.001+08:002016-08-26T06:56:32.723+08:00

**There is no way to embellish this retelling any further, so I won't. He holds my right hand, wraps my fingers in between his, moves them closer to his face, and then he starts planting slow kisses. This little boy of 22 has the softest lips, and those little boy kisses are a darling surprise. His breathing tickles the gap in between my fingers, how pleasurable, and I continue sucking on

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-17326338794818211692016-08-19T07:45:00.000+08:002016-08-19T07:49:08.227+08:00

**And by "Androids," I mean my biologically male beloveds who have achieved such amazing augmentations to their, and I use this term apologetically, to their "masculine" forms. One of them still argues, to this day, that giving birth will soon be transferable. I'm still arguing against that.  Notice how that first line was a murder of modifiers?  1. Where this or that's nose

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-83339212261764088472016-08-12T07:49:00.000+08:002016-08-12T07:49:32.364+08:00

You get to greet a person on his birthday once a year. So I don't think it's good fucking form that you abbreviate your well wishes with a god damn HBD. Girl, we're talking about a one time deal in 365 days, so I think it's just proper. Perhaps I'll let your HBD slip if you still have finger cramps from masturbating too much, but you don't. FY. And it doesn't matter to me that it's in social

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-38933272525718392352016-08-05T19:06:00.000+08:002016-08-06T11:34:10.492+08:00

This Essentialist Salad Spinner sits on the kitchen counter and waits for its owner to spin salad. It was meant to spin salad, its engineering is for spinning salad, and it was purchased to spin salad. This Essentialist Salad Spinner devotes all its salad spinner energies, which are mostly centripetal, to its one calling. And it attends to this purpose, which is arguably divine, with the

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-42664215877571058082016-07-29T09:59:00.000+08:002016-07-29T09:59:07.671+08:00

My neighbor, Old Flaccid, decided to be a noisy motherfucker that morning.  He kept shouting the same word twice per repetition, "Blackie! Blackie!," in this pattern that gave him breathing intervals. He was old, you see, and he looked like he was decaying because of his skin. It has the character of a withered scrotum. Old Flaccid needed to breathe, I guess, on account of this

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9759356.post-80270567504555020492016-07-22T07:46:00.000+08:002016-07-22T07:54:05.023+08:00

**Or Other People's Weirdness: Twice His Age My tattoos figure largely in this story. We've been friends for a while now, but she still refers to me as "Uy, ano!" That's "Hey you!" in receipt language. Anyway, Norma, that's my friend, Norma cooks the best torta within miles, and that's why I'm keeping her business. And I decided to eat at her stall that afternoon on account of I was too

Momelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04766283916765227370noreply@blogger.com6