Quips of fury

“I don’t have pet peeves. I have major psychotic f****g hatreds.” — George Carlin

Things piss you off. That’s just the way the world works. It’s only the degree that you pursue your convictions that makes the difference. Say what you want about the Catholic Church, Generation Jihad or Anabelle Rama but you have to give them credit for being able to hold a grudge longer than many marriages — and with a lot more passion too. If anything, that’s something that you’ve got to give up some respect for, despite any feelings of abhorrence for their person or cause. They may be wrong; but they surely aren’t wimps.

As for myself, I can say that I’ve only rarely been accused of being lukewarm in my opinions. They aren’t always right, mind you, but by God do I really mean them, man. Of course, age — not to mention a plethora of anti-depressants — has dulled my edge but I can still work up some bile for choice subjects. Nor am I saying that I’m very proud it — after all, it can be very petty sometimes — but, hey, it is what it is. Fact of the matter is that I’ve mellowed.

For example, I don’t think I can muster the energy to write at length about things I detest, music that isn’t made by pop-rock dream-boys Callalily or people that I think should just eat s***t and die. Nope, cannot do it anymore. Though I still think Elton John made the death of Princess Diana even more painful by re-recording and releasing “Candle in the Wind”, that the US-led invasion of Iraq caused nothing but sorrow and further eroded any chance of achieving peace in the Middle East, or that anything labeled “indie” just means it’s too boring to be anything original or worth anything but a download. But will I devote more than a couple of paragraphs to expressing this? Perhaps not. After all, life is too long and Twitter is too short.

But the good editor of this section somewhat believes that I still have some of that rage left in me. The last thing I want to do is to disappoint him or be upstaged by the likes of Wincy Aquino Ong, who inadvertently inspired this week’s issue. If I try hard enough, I think I can manage to fart out a little bit of what remains of my soul and deliver the noxious spirits of old. (For this column, I think I managed to list five.) Time to pull up the blanket and enjoy the smell.

Carlo J. Caparas

Forget about the irregularities surrounding the naming of this self-proclaimed “justice filmmaker” as National Artist for both Film and Visual Arts. Let’s take issue with the glaring fact that he’s an opportunistic buffoon whose talent as an artist is as sublime as the makers of the “2 Girls-1 Cup” video. Anyone who says otherwise should subject themselves to a marathon of every single Caparas movie ever made — and do it again until they puke.

Anti-theists

I have no issue with un-believers. They’re entitled to live godless lives if they want. Many atheists are excellent human beings, even admittedly better than most Catholics or Christians I know. What’s annoying are those who’ve read Richard Dawkins or maybe Christopher Hitchens and aren’t content to disbelieve but broadcast their ignorance of history, culture and common sense and become “evangelical” anti-theists. Religion isn’t the problem — people are. Deal with it. Listen to a Slayer album or something.

John mayer

To paraphrase George Carlin, white people have no business playing the blues. Their job is to give it — not to play it. And it’s a mystery to me why any woman would find a song like Your Body is a Wonderland as anything else but as disgusting and creepy if not utterly banal. And yeah, my niece only wanted an autograph and a hug from you (she went despite having a dislocated shoulder) but you turned your back on her, you a**hole.

Pro-life

Even if you’re not a liberal (I’m certainly not) how delusional, not to mention misogynistic, do you have to be to say that over-population is not a problem and that scores of women aren’t suffering? Apart from being against reproductive health rights, these people also believe that even involuntary abortions or terminating pregnancies that endanger the mother are criminal acts. These same self-proclaimed pro-lifers are also issuing death threats to Carlos Celdran. Talk about irony. Again, Carlin is right when he says: “Pro-life is another word for anti-woman.”

All new music except callalily

It used to be that the music you listened to was supposed to upset your parents. Now it’s more likely that the music of today has more chance of boring the elder generation to death than giving them heart attacks. Talk about bland — kids need to put in a token jazz album (usually Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue”) to tart up their social networking profiles because they’re afraid of betraying the fact that they’re the equivalent of bond paper for a personality. Go back to the Starbuck’s where you get your music from and eat a muffin.