Videos games have always been considered to be childish and immature forms of entertainment. A digital, intangible, and worthless source of pleasure fed by our need to overcome challenges by giving us levels to beat and points to gain, giving us a false sense of success. People say this need should be satisfied by pursuing more socially acceptable challenges, like getting laid, learning Japanese, or glass blowing.

With that said i'll be playing Halo 3 until I beat the game. And then i'll pursue the getting laid by a Japanese glass blower part.

I chase beautiful women ALL the time. There's a lot of running involved but that's when the magic happens. Like last Saturday I went to the club all by myself because that's how I roll and I danced with 5 different girls. I was 7 feet away from them when I did, standing by the bar, but im pretty sure they liked it.

I met one girl where my game took our relationship to the next level:

Me: Hey so do you like cats? ...I think cats are a real social... things.
Chick: Shit, where's my mace.

Unfortunately she found it. So I danced the night away with my eyes closed. But, I still looked cool because I was holding a drink the whole night, indicating to the ladies that I had money to buy a drink, even though it was just orange juice. If you ever see me at the club, don't call me by my real name, Filipeanut. By night, you can call me Cutey Babes.

A few weeks ago I was reminiscing about sisig until I decided to actually go out and search for some in the neighborhood. I found this place called "House of Sisig." And you'd think that with a name like "House of Sisig" you'd find either a house made out of beautifully fried chopped pig faces and brain or a restaurant that cooked it. I didn't find either of those. Instead I found a place that looked like a donut shop but smelled like meat, and generated styrofoam to-go boxes with two scoops of rice, a Dixie container full of Kikoman soy sauce, chopped pork, and chopped jalapeños and onions.

It was as if I was trapped in a candy shop with no candy, or a beautiful girl shop with no beautiful girls. Or like trapped in a toy store with not one toy save for a jack-in-the-box in a dark corner, which when opened would come out and scare you saying, "No sisig here! Go back home get some real shit!"

For some reason I hated the people at this "House of Sisig," but isn't their fault. For all I know its probably illegal in the United States to make sisig the real way. It also doesn't help that calamansi and pig heads aren't that abundant in this part of the globe. Either way, I have no beef with these folks, its just that I have no pork face with them either.

Last week I bumped into a young man who happened to own an iPhone. It was then that I fantasized about his iPhone and I on a beach in the Philippines, possibly on one of those little islands off the coast of Aklan or between Palawan and Malaysia with only one coconut tree on it. Turning to her (the iPhone) I would say, "Im so glad you left that young man I saw you with a few weeks ago, he didn't know how to cook and his face was similar-looking to an apple fritter. Or carabao poops." To which my iPhone would reply, "laisse faire l'amour, bomba."

After the fantasy, I asked the young man if I could visit my website with his iPhone so that I could take a picture of the iPhone with my website displayed on it so that I could post the picture up on my blog and brag that I had the chance to hold an iPhone that wasn't mine. After looking at me weird he handed me the iPhone and I had my way with it. I made sure I was delicate, yet firm. Gentle, yet hella cool.

Apparently my website doesn't display well on the iPhone. Or maybe the iPhone cannot withstand the beautiful that is my blog grammar. I stood there as he walked away with his iPhone. A tear falls. From my nostril because it was cold. And then another tear fell, from my glistening sad right eye. The end.

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