:: Happy Basted Day ::

I think there should be something for the rejected. Specifically of the male genitalia, err, specie. If people could celebrate stupid monthsaries, and even weeksaries, not to mention those stupid kids who celebrated their shit amidst Dolphy’s wake; I’m not so sure with this one, basta someone died that week. Or if people could even celebrate the anniversaries of their Twitter accounts or even their pet salamanders, I really want to propose something the world needs. I think I need help from an international organization such as EU, UN, or even The International Cereal Association, just because we need champions. Yeah, breakfast of champions.

Pwede din pala yung Chinese food na champoy. Chiampoy, chiampion of the Chinese.

We badly need a Basted Day or Day of the Basted.

To remember greatly, my fallen comrades in the battle of fighting for their loved one. Even if they do know that they lost the fight already. They, ladies and gentlemen, are the real heroes of this generation. Especially the ugly ones (I did say the ugly ones, because no one will admit that they are ugly) or those people who are constantly rejected by these so-called wretched beings. I admire the fight. I admire your battle. But alas, more often than not, you waylay on the losing side. Hearts crumpled in the dirt. Efforts sent to the non-existent persona.

All they can do is watch, accept, and ogle.

Where is the fairness and certainty in all the hullabaloo that is happening in this world today?

And yet, these female species would claim that they are alone. Love does not visit. And all the shit that they can come up. Not thinking that just right inside the message inbox of their cellular phones, they would see the oh-so usual torpe approach of just saying ‘hello’ to the most hardcore of messaging, ‘kumain ka na?’

I mean do you even ask your best friend or your parents if they ate already? Unless if you are the resident cook, you’d probably ask this. But come on, just saying hi to your crush or even having a short conversation is God’s gift to men. Much more to the freaking rejection.

These guys who’re basted must be given the 42 Gun Salute (because it is the answer for any hypoallergenic question), and should be given medals made from everlasting, because the hurt is, well, everlasting.

And with that, everyone who is participating, is required to wear Orange. Make your presence conspicuous. Make your hearts heard. You are part of the fallen. Be proud of what you did.

Yes, this goes to the much enamored female friendzoners too.


~ by targrod on October 9, 2012.

2 Responses to “:: Happy Basted Day ::”

  1. . . .oh-so usual torpe approach of just saying ‘hello’ to the most hardcore of messaging, ‘kumain ka na?’

    So that’s why whenever I ask ‘What was your dinner?’
    she always ignores me.

    Thank you for the enlightenment, Targ 😉

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