laowlaowpantz

you ever do something you were so sure about, then look back on it and say "who the fuck was that guy?  as if i just did/bought/said that."

i do it all the time.  ALL-THE-TIME.

sometimes, i worry me.

now quit gawkin’ and start walkin’.

-mlv

fuck, i just took a look at the ol’ bloggo for the first time in a mah-fahkin’ long ass time.  i sound like an asshole in that last one.  i guess i got a rep for saying some way-harsh shit when i’m in front of a keyboard.  my bad.  i musta been hungry or something.  see, i work part-time at an internet cafe.  alone.  which means i gotta deal with mad aussies as well as hold in my piss and poo plus, if i don’t pack a lunch i’m pretty much fucked (and if i do pack a lunch, i’ll probably need to poo soon after).  other than that, the job ain’t that bad.  really.

i actually wanted to move my words to a less secluded location eventually.  just haven’t found the time.  two jobs, buddy.  plus i be tryna snowboard.  these days i’m all caught  up in the ‘what next?’ question.  fuckin’ what next question.  sometimes i think it would be awesome if you knew that in the next moment, BLAMMO; earthquake and you fall into the snatch of the earth.  at least you know where you’re going.  not much to think about after that.  ‘cept God hates you.  i don’t mean that.  it wouldn’t be awesome.  so anyway, no time to blog.  shame, i know.

come back.  later than sooner.

-mlv

had to move.  you people are too much.

leave me alone.

-mlv

anybody who knew me in my adolescent years knew i was an aspiring emcee.  i had dreams of being a dorky filipino rap star.  imagine that.  anybody who knew me REALLY well knew that at that time in my life i was at constant war with myself.  which made rhyming difficult.  eventually i gave up on it and focused all my creative energy on my asianavenue.com page.  pretty lame-oh.  i guess i felt there was no place for what i needed to talk about in hip hop.  along with the serious doubts about my ability with the pen.  i lost the passion.  i was more concerned with people thinking i was cool.  so everything i rhymed about was false.  these days i could really give a fuck.  i’m more on a i speak, you listen type tip.  besides that i’m mad dope.  doper than a lot of these khats.  seriously.  which is what brought about this new fire.  i find myself getting so angry at hip hop.  khat’s are still making kid’s music.  hip hop is over twenty years old.  GROW THE FUCK UP!  most khats making it back in toronto got the right idea.  i’m so proud i’m from there.  now i live in BC and i keep coming across GARBAGE.  inexcusable GARBAGE.  pseudo-gangstaz.  underground khats that think that because their intentions are true their horrible sound is listenable.  I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOUR STANCE IS.  I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF YOUR MAINSTREAM OR UNDERGROUND OR KEEPING IT REAL.  JUST BRING IT!  bring it.  that’s all i ask.  where are the dope tunes?

i got this buddy, tom, out here who’s an aspiring beat-minder.  he’s from the vancouver equivalent of scarborough.  we share the same philosophical approach to music.  we speak daily about the great and the garbage.  we go to shows and straight up HATE.  i mean HATE.  maestro came to town.  we were excited to see him live.  he’s a legend.  the dudes who opened up for him were lucky i didn’t walk across the empty floor right to the front of the stage.  stop.  look disgusted then spit on their air force 1’s.  then the man comes out, MAESTRO.  after he did ‘backbone’ it was pretty much all downhill.  buddy came out and started screaming at the top of his lungs "all my real niggaz throw your hands up" (or something to like that).  i can count all the black folk in this town on one hand.  what made it worse; maestro’s buddy concise the black knight was on the wings guzzling hennessy straight out the bottle with a chain down to his dick and his dad’s shirt on.  no class.  what a waste of cognac.  fuckin amateurs.  i kept thinking "this guy is nearly FORTY YEARS OLD!"  he’s making music for high school kids.  me, tom, and dopey (who OPENED for maestro) walked out in the middle of the show pissed off and hit up the drum and bass night.  we thought we could do better.  finally we decided, FUCK THIS . . . WE CAN DO BETTER.  so now me and tom are on this CHANGE THE GAME mission.  even more so now that dilla died. 

i have two main goals in life.  number one is write a book that’ll give your mother a heart attack and make your frat-boy boyfriend cry.  number two is pen the definitive classic asskick of a hip hop album.  i mean that dope shit.  neither of them have to blow up.  if anything my grandkids will enjoy them.  at least i gave it a go.  besides i’m too dope for my material to reflect anything BUT dope.

so i’m back on the rhyme again.  it’s starting off really slow.  i mean i’ve only written one rhyme and it ain’t even complete.  i ain’t got no beats (tom’s mad lazy).  so that sucks.  but still i feel a confidence in my pen that wasn’t there before.  i’m more sure of myself.  what i’m talking about is really what i’m thinking.  it feels like how i feel when i write in this blog.  easy.  which is how it should be.  and even though i only got ONE rhyme, i feel like i’m on to something.  give it a little time and it’ll start to flow proper.  i’m sure of it.  it’s just in me.  and beyond that i’m way too pissed off at rap to not make it happen.  i owe it to the world.  let’s make some dope music.

i was gonna post that one incomplete rhyme but i think i’ll save it for later.  by the way, the manuel and tom duo is called NO I.D.  we have this on going joke about filipino’s not having any identity.  and he’s just a dirty slovak.  and here we are tryna make hip hop music that tries especially to not be hip hop (not in the sense that THEY think of it).  plus we can never escape getting IDed at every gin-joint and BCLO.

that would make a great an album cover.  our faces would be all like "dude, we were just in here YESTERDAY!"

now quit jockin’ me and peace.

-mlv

when i wake up and take a shit i sit on the toilet and read charles bukowski’s poetry outloud.  his shit is much better when read outloud cause you can hear how tough his line is.  he would’ve loved that i read on the toilet.  i think that’s why i do it.  bukowski has been a good friend to me ever since that first book flew off the book shelf, whizzed across the library, and buk’d me in the forehead.  i read bukowski alone for almost half a year.  i wouldn’t consider anything else REAL writing.  bukowski is writing.  the way i think of it anyway.  he writes with urgency, like his soul is on fire and the only way to bear it is to bare it to you.

i’ve been meaning to post some of his work for awhile.  except you have to promise not to print it out and to go buy the damn books.

this isn’t his most profound work but i was sitting on the shitter and thought "this is clever, imma post it."  so here it is:

EXPERIENCE

she claimed to be

worldly

to have traveled

everywhere

was said to have known

many famous men and even

slept with some of

them.

really she had

(she said)

done it

all.

after dinner

at a neighborhood Japanese restaurant

I asked her

if she would care for a

drink.

she ran her eyes

over the menu

then said she guessed

she’d have the

sake

which I

ordered.

and when the drink

arrived

she picked it

up

sipped

then quickly set it

down

looking disgusted.

"what’s the matter?"

I asked.

she replied,

"why is this

stuff

hot?"

-c.b.

learn more about this awesome dude.

i might as well post some of my own work:

THOSE THREE WORDS

fuck off.

bye!

-mlv

you know why i’m hardly taken seriously?  i’m little.  you know why i’m not taxing your girlfriend?  i’m little.  you know why i haven’t ALREADY taken over the world?  i’m little.

you know how i get props?  how i get respect? 

i got this troublesome mouth of mine, but i can’t fuck with people.  i’ll get beat the fuck up.  so generally i’m not myself around new people.  older folk don’t talk to me like an adult until they catch me at a bar.  i’m not being paronoid or insecure when i say this, but i walk into a bar and people look at me and assume i’m a 17 year-old virgin asian kid who’s never been tested by life.  i’m asking to get fucked with.  i’ve heard this. 

so this is how i get my props:  i sit down and order the hardest most rudebwoy shit they got.  the bartender pours a pint of whatever and a shot of wild turkey (aka the funky bird, bad christmas dinner).  that’s when i feel the curiousity all over me.  who the fuck drinks wild turkey?  did he just shoot that shit straight?  he’s getting another one?  i make sure they see me licking those off all night without making a funk face.  it’s the only way i know to make frat-boys and big folk feel small.  reading my book, drinking that big-round old dude under the table, who breaks the ice by asking me "where in mexico you from?"

sometimes that’s better than being called ‘boy’ (or cute).

i’m not complaining.  i love little.  i’m much more clever because of it.

i still wish i had a gigantic cock or lightning fists.  i’ll settle for my iron liver and flawless complexion.

now please move along.  i gotta hem my pants and shrink all my hoodies.

-mlv

"big guys always think they can win.  little guys know what can happen.  little guys understand an ass-whipping.  little guys only fight when there’s no choice."

-chris rock

i’m dying.

so i go to the doctors cause the sick hasn’t gone away.  (it’s been two weeks.)  she places her hands on my neck and says "woah, you’re hot!"  i take off my shirt and she does the whole stethiscope (sp?) thing.  she asks me what i’ve been choughing up and the colour.  i tell her booger colour.  she takes my temperature.  it blasts to forty degrees.  she asks if i smoke.  i say YUP!  she tells me i got pneumonia.  i go for an x-ray and indeed, i do have pneumonia.

i didn’t even know you can still get pneumonia.  didn’t beethoven die of pneumonia?  i told the lady i had pneumonia and she hugged me like it was the last time.  she’s good like that.

WHAT IS PNEUMONIA?

Pneumonia is an inflammation of the lung caused by infection with bacteria, viruses, and other organisms. Pneumonia is usually triggered when a patient’s defense system is weakened, most often by a simple viral upper respiratory tract infection or a case of influenza. Such infections or other triggers do not cause pneumonia directly but they alter the mucous blanket, thus encouraging bacterial growth. Other factors can also make specific people susceptible to bacterial growth and pneumonia.

(excerpt from: reuters health)

everyone in my house and work  know why i got pneumonia.  i was black-out drunk every day for like two-weeks.  since christmas.  every morning waking up in a different part of my house.  missing a sock.  losing my shirt.  getting weird vibes from the lady.  oddly enough, i never woke up with a hangover.  so i felt i was invincible.  i ate good, but i guess it didn’t balance out.  a mickey of brandy or a bottle of wine a night ain’t good for you.  that combined with smoking unfiltered pouch tobacco.  anyway, enough about my favorite bad habits.

here’s a list of famous deaths by pneumonia:

- US president william henry harrison

- russian novelist leo tolstoy

- big band leader lawrence welk

- actor charles bronson

- writer and director billy wilder

- 19th century sharpshooter calamity jane

- composer franz liszt

- dutch painter piet mondrian

- jim backus the dude who played mr. magoo and thursten j. howell iii

and many, many more.

some of these folk were only sick for a week.  luckily i got anti-biotics.

don’t fuck with your body.  you might die.

now stroll before i cough up some nasty up on you.

-mlv

so this is the one where i try and write even though i really don’t feel like it.  but it’s just about time.

i ain’t gotta explain in detail the shittiness involved with being sick.  i brought this upon myself.  my indestructible liver is failing.  my immune system is shot.  and now, i might as well be shot.  i’m useless.  (women know this:  when dude’s are sick, they aren’t really that sick.  but they milk it cause it’s the only time they get to act like they’re 5). 

my lady is just loving sick-manuel.  waking up pissed for no reason.  hating life.  hating her.  blowing my nose.  feeling fine for about five minutes.  crawling back to her so i can lie in her titties and ask her to make me breakfast.  i’m a horrible boy.  she’s a wonderful woman.   

anyway.  falling asleep on her titties and acting like an absolute twat is a fair trade for sitting through a few episodes of ONE TREE HILL (season 2).  i’m sure she is going to cash in those chips as soon as she walks through the door.  i’m not excited.

in other news.  my unbridled confidence has simmered down and only seems to boil over when i’m drunk on the brandy outside the club.  you should see me.  you never wanted to punch such a cute guy in the nose so bad.  reality has seeped in to my disillusioned state during the days though.  just after new years i felt like i could make your girlfriend and her mother cry and faint with a wink.  now i’m waking up in the morning, going to take a piss, and laughing when i look down at my ‘filipinoness’.  but it’s not just the lack of bulge that irks me.

it is really easy to set goals.  it’s super easy to be ambitious.  i’ve been ambitious all my life.  it’s been a struggle.  if you’re not a success, you’re a disappointment.  i’ve succeeded, disappointingly, in achieving nothing for a long time.  but over the holidays it was like GOD was speaking to me.  i found my ‘thing’ . . . finally.  here’s a brief description of what happens when you have an epiphany:

you’re eyes light up and people notice that "you know some shit".

you smirk ironically on the regular, cause you do indeed KNOW SOME SHIT.

you can do no wrong.  anything that you do or say is flawless and beautiful.

you renounce drugs cause you are certain that nothing can beat this feeling.

you spend money like you intend on going broke, cause you know you’ll make it all back.

your penis grows about an inch or your nipples become the perfect tint.

you go to a party and the crowd looks like a field of peach trees and you’re in the mood for eating peaches.

you wonder why you ever fussed over your wardrobe cause now you can pull off anything.

you tell everyone you get into a conversation with that you’re gonna be rich and how.

you smoke a couple bong loads and hit earth.

you rationalize a new reason to do drugs again.

you realize that now you gotta act on your claims.

you realize it isn’t gonna be as easy as you made it out to be.

you realize that you’re a fool for being so in the sky. 

you actually gotta get off your ass.

you’re lucky you got a chick that makes you wanna stay home and you’re lucky that you’re a brilliant ass mofo.

that is more than i wanted to say.  thanks for reading.

now fuck off.  i’m sick.

-mlv

so yo?

i wanted to school you khats on how to disect a creme-filled cookie (a la nanaimo bar) with some class, flash, and flair; to optimize your cookie eating experience as well as make it more delicious.  some folks just don’t know how to eat cookies propah.  they be stuffing their faces six cookies at a time and shit, taking pint-size chugs of milk.  do you even taste the creme?  the cookie part is useless if it’s drenched in milk.  smoke a joint first, throw on your favorite song, stretch, smile, and eat one cookie at a time.  i don’t have time to explain.  but soon will.

i just wanted to wish everyone a happy holiday.  like i said, christmas is pretty gay.  but ain’t nothing wrong with that.  so long as you’re giving throughout the year and not just in december.  i guess it’s good to have a little reminder.

here’s a few inexpensive, yet impossible gifts i’d like under my tree:

a flower child chick named starlah, a women spawned in the ocean, a rich-white-society-type-lady, a queen from queens, and a montreal drum-n-bass chick up in my hot tub (throw a red-head in there somewhere).

some flair-ass bartending skills a la tom cruise so i don’t gotta bus tables the rest of my life.

a room:  with four walls and a door that closes.

wait, that may cost money.  so do all the other things i’m thinking of.  (i was gonna say iPOD, laptop, CDs, etc.).  guess we all know what christmas is about then, eh?  gay!

midnight mass:  spot me a cigarette after communion.  then leave.

-mlv    

the O.C. christmas episode sucked slutty fag bum.  while the Everybody Hates Chris episode was good ol’ holiday television.  especially when the fat red head kid stomps Chris to the floor and says "happy kwanzza, kunta kinte".  where the O.C. failed to blend judaism and christianity (if christmas is still christian) with corny Christmakkuh magic, Everybody Hates Chris succeeded in mixing them ol’ Cosby family values with a likkle FUCK-YOU-KRACKER.  subtle enough to make a klan’s man giggle in his sheets.

for more holiday cheer i suggest you watch C.R.A.Z.Y..  c’est en francais.  even better it’s quebecois.  what’s best is that it’s flaming.  complete with pretty boy outfits from three different decades.  an amazing soundtrack.  crying.  peeing the bed.  war with oldest brother, father, and GOD.  making up with oldest brother, father, and GOD.  more crying.  cooler than thou situations and characters.  and a cakeboy protagonist that even your hockey fan boyfriend can idolize.  so christmas is pretty gay already.  when you make a film about a gay kid born on christmas that is . . . CRAZY.  anyway, it’s a great film.  touching.  YOU and you’re hockey boy will love it.  (you means:  you AND you).

***

i got not-so-superman wasted at my staff party on tuesday.  i spent the last three days MENTALLY recovering.  not physically, i can handle the drink, MENTALLY.  which is why all i can talk about is movies and television.  it is all i did for the past three days, to relieve myself of the embarrassment.  i can’t really remember a thing after staff party drink number nth.  i lost my jacket AGAIN.  and now i’m scared to go back to work.  it’s not that i have a problem.  it’s that i’m incredibly stupid.  i can’t be an alcoholic, i lack the courage.  still, time for a break i think. 

we’ll see what i’m saying after NEW YEARS.  hope your’s is awesome. =P.

let’s get a hug.  *hug*.  now turn around, bitch.  *smack*.  scoot.

-mlv