According to our most reliable re-sour-ces, it’s signal no. 3 in Cavite.
Two days ago, after receiving some late night news updates about a tropical storm fast approaching the Philippines, I was jumping and shouting (subconsciously) like Sarah Geronimo and her panty liner. Classes are suspended in Metro Manila, including nearby provinces. Cavite is spelled in capital letters on the rolling text. A storm mightier than Milenyo and Winnie will unleash its hydrous devastation. Three super typhoons in a row. No classes, alas. No electricity for several days, [*insert cuss words here]. No Ma’am Viado, No Ma’am Diloy, No Ma’am Ilagan. No Cavite State University. Just me and my El amor en los tiempos del cólera.
Few hours later, PAGASA confirmed that tropical storm Reming changed its course, directing its strongest winds in Mindoro as claimed by the forecasts. Metro Manila inhabitants queered. Their smiles imply gimmick and sleeping. But PAGASA further threatened that Reming can pre-empt its direction. I smirked. Suffering is the understatement.
So I fully understand that we’re still gonna have bad weather since Reming’s coverage is humongously wide, not a single pinch of sky blue can be found except the paint job in my room. In fact, signal no. 3 is raised here in Cavite already. The storm warning purportedly states semi-devastation; gales that would swish big tree branches along their direction, and terra-cotta pots smashing in roarness galore. Oh, and don’t forget the parakeets who seemed to silence themselves and produce non-hatching eggs inside their cages. My fear of electricity outage is on its peak. I can’t live without my electric fan.
10 hours have passed. Mom succeeded drying my 7-kilo clothes. Teri is playing Legend of Zelda. I can still hear Willie Revillame singing Boom Tarat. Right now, it’s signal no. 1. I’m yawning.
I wanna throw a stone at PAG-ASA.
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Mike Arroyo, and his bite-size wife Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (she does not deserve the prefix) was rushed to the hospital. Some Myna bird told me the fatso First Gentleman is undergoing an angioplasty. Blocked blood vessels? Hahahaha.
And even GMA accompanied her. The hospital staff gagged their mouths to disclose any information about their confinement.
Last week, they prompted to St. Luke’s Hospital for a so-called ‘executive checkup’. The doctor assigned pronounced good health and long life for both of them except Mike’s fats getting flabbier in direct proportion to the amount he’s taking from our shipping line.
Gloria Arroyo was confined to St. Luke’s six months ago because of diarrhea. The next month, she was attacked with flu. The eve of my birthday owned her executive checkup.
Awooo. I wish them fewer days to procrastinate.
[edit] Lying won’t let themselves out of it. Take it from Marcos. [/edit]
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I am happy to know that our adopted puppy, MC, has found better home in the hands of my classmate Ara. Only us have the heart to take care of the puppy religiously unlike my housemates who seemed to loved it when it was still small and cute and not barking. They don’t even care about its daily bathing, and of plasticity they claimed they loved the puppy, loved dogs and finally their true colors showed their negligence to it after growing up. I hate them.
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Stray cats seemed to have their guts up surging in our residence. Kapal ng mukha. All they know is to flirt with humans for food. And after eating, they scram, as if they don’t know anybody except at par some goon is trying to catch them for siopao. Kapal talaga ng mukha. And they always make sure their leftovers are rolling everywhere. Napakakapal talaga ng mukha. We’ve attempted to extinguish them with rat poison, but their stomachs are tough.
Arrrgh. The nerve.
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