fallacious defined 2

i’m giving my usual fecal-material-related posts a rest (cue collective sigh…of relief, I hope), to give way to a more inspired, a more relevant, and – brace yourselves for some brilliant use of pun – a more intellectually digested topic: suicide-inducing blunders.

(commercial: talking about feces - can’t help myself – I’m about to get a physical and I’m pretty sure that everyone is familiar with fecalysis. They give you this plastic condiment cup – pray that it comes with a cover – kind of like the ones they use to serve ketchup in Wendy’s, and they ask you to give your “freshest” stool specimen, collected from your bum 2-3 hours before your check-up. now, the thing is, when you look at the plastic cup, you’re confronted with the question of quantity. Zag told me that it should just be a “kurot” – as in a “pinch” of salt. first of all, who pinches shit? - don’t answer that. second, if they only need a “kurot ng tae,” then why the plastic cup that suggests generous serving? it’s probably cheaper than those cotton buds with plastic cover used by CSI’s. you’re probably thinking what i’m thinking – i’m going to saunter into the examination room, whip out my stool specimen, and give those doctors the surprise of their life – cherry-topped macaroon ala turd.)

on to my blunders. just one, for this post. i was hanging out the other day with Grossy and Sponge Booba (my SO’s new alias. Don’t ask, won’t tell.) in our favorite haunt, Double Deck. they have cheap beer and great Anyhows (grilled livestock entrails, in particular), excellent for those who rarely use their liver and arteries. the place’s design concept resembles that of PierOne, with its multi-tiered approach to “dining & wining.” like icing, we prefer to be on the topmost layer, exposing ourselves to the elements and Double Deck’s infamous sound system (which their waitress proudly claims to be “sadyang basag”). unlike Grossy’s Makati hotspots (V bar, Azzurro, Capone’s), Double Deck boasts of a crowd of seasoned beer-guzzlers, which includes your over-30 demographic - this means that people pretty much will leave you alone. except when you do something remarkably stupid. there are times when I feel that my statuesque frame does more harm than good – riding in jeepneys, shopping for pants and shoes in greenhills (apparently, the knock-off industry caters to midgets and dyslexics – saw a football jersey in Market! Market! that has the word “Protugal” strewn across its left shoulder). that time, it definitely did me some harm – just add two klutzes into the mix and we will be called the “harmed ones.” (caught yourself smirking to a corny joke, eh?) moving on, given that it was cold and i’ve had a couple of bottles already, i needed a piss. nothing beats a good piss when you’re solb (tipsy), few people will argue the fact that it’s nearly orgasmic. the restrooms in Double Deck are located on all floors except the roof deck, so i had to go down a flight of stairs, and enter a glass enclosure for private functions before i got to the men’s room. it was no trouble really, i still could see straight – meaning i wasn’t hitting on any MILF’s yet, maybe if it were someone like Cristina Gonzales, now that’s a fine looking ermats. as i was saying, my depth perception was still okay, i didn’t perform any of my gymnastic routines while traversing the steps of Double Deck, so i was confident that getting out of the rest room doesn’t need my full concentration. if you’ve ever seen me walk, especially if i’m alone, you’d notice that i walk with my chin down. not that i’ve ever been humble or meek, but i just don’t like it when i make eye contact with strangers, especially old men who tend to stare a bit longer than what is deemed decent. i find it violating, being ogled at. so, as i headed out of the enclosure, i failed to notice the glass partition that people don’t normally run into. i have to thank the maintenance staff of Double Deck for keeping things pristine, that glass and its existential presence was indeed a piece of work. good thing I had my hands in front of me that prevented me from giving the glass a good smooching. as i calmly tapped the glass with my right hand while shaking my head thinking, “great, just great,” i realized that i had an audience on the other side of the glass – around four badminton enthusiasts, out for a night cap. what’s truly remarkable about the whole incident is how those four people composed themselves, giving me ample time to run up to the roof deck before they laughed their bladders and tear ducts out. all i could tell Grossy and Sponge Booba when i got back to our table was, “Uwian na tayo.”

and that, my friends, is another definition of the word “fallacious.” you guys can laugh now.

after you compose yourself from rolling on the floor, laughing your ass off, understand that this isn't a commissioned portrait. i kid you not.  

so, what's for breakfast?

(this is probably one of the all-time best wake up calls a decent person can and will get in his tenure on this wretched rock)

alma (drama empress, also from whose loins i sprang forth): " PJ, dadaan yung sipsip tae bukas ng umaga. Pabukas mo yung pozo negro sa garahe sa kabila."

hijos and hijas, my spanish isn't muy bueno, but i know for a fact that the literal english translation of pozo negro is "black well." A black well full of shit that came from alma's ass, zag's ass, my aunt's ass, my own ass, and the asses of our guests who had enough audacity to GO and violate the sanctity of our toilet, to be exact. i think this sentence begs the question, "Who would want to collect fecal material and place them inside a well?" (there must be someone out there who would answer this question with, "Well, actually, my cousin Otis..." - what's with the name?)

the pozo negro, or septic tank, is your household's very own sewage treatment center (by "sewage" we mean anything that plummets into the reekful abyss of your indoor plumbing). usually a large steel or concrete tank located within one's lot, the septic tank segregates sewage, with the help of gravity, according to the states of matter: arranged vertically beginning with the least dense is the gaseous material (three-year-old farts preserved in a ziploc), water found in your sinks pipes and your toilets prevents harmful fumes from backwashing into your dining area; next on our septic tank hierarchy is the scum, solids that are less dense than liquid (soap suds, tissue paper, Globe prepaid simcards); followed by relatively clear water containing bacteria, nitrogen and phosphorous (third world "mineral" water), this is the only component of sewage that is periodically expelled from the septic tank and absorbed by the surrounding soil; and last, but not the least, we find sludge settling at the bottom of the tank (the real deal, The Shit).

(Tae, why was i gifted with a vivid imagination? i bet you could smell it, too.)

i couldn't remember the last time our pozo negro was cleaned or if it was ever cleaned at all. after visiting a couple of sites that promoted the regular purgation of septic tanks, i found out that solid material escaping through the tank outlet caused by the absence of tank maintenance (translation: sa dami na ng duming tao sa pozo negro, dahil nakaligtaan itong linisin, umapaw na yung tae mo sa karatig lupa ng iyong bahay. hindi na tae ng aso yung naaamoy mo sa labas, yun yung hapunan mo kagabi na nakaranas na ng maraming pagbabago sa iyong lamang loob at siya namang iniluwal ng iyong mabuhok na tumbong.) will damage the surrounding ecosystem and eventually end all life on earth.

it makes you wonder why Malabanan doesn't advertise as often as it should.

septic-info.com gives us the best advice when it comes to the scouring of our pozo negros, "As tempting as it may be (!), don't consider pumping your septic tank yourself!" couldn't have shet it better.

(aren't you glad that i don't know how to upload images in my blog?)