RANDOM RANTS

Every single time someone asks me why I am being mean, I just give the person a mirror and say, “There’s your answer.”

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My mom asked me to be nicer to people, then followed it with “You should get out more”. And I just sat there, looking straight into her eyes, waiting for her to get over her fantasy version of me.

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When people say that I shouldn’t be such a jerk since I’m not even good looking, I just smile and gives them the number of my ophthalmologist.

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My mom always tell me that if I don’t get out of my apartment and do something with my life aside from spewing some random rants about some other people, I’d never be successful. She clearly forgot that in the Philippines, that makes me quite a shoo in for presidency.

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Between coffee and getting a girlfriend, I’d go with coffee. It’s cheap, it’s everywhere, and it doesn’t care if I’ve taken a bath in days or not. But maybe it’s more on the fact that coffee don’t actually say, “No way! You’re ugly!”

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A friend asked me what’s my view about Lucky Manzano’s “birdie” breakdown on Twitter. And my first thought was, “Does the birdie have actual wings or just eggs and is it coming out of his mouth or going in?”

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For those people who posts that geniuses are people who are constantly active at night while waiting for their coffee to boil, nice try.

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Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate humanity. I can’t really hate something I haven’t seen yet.

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When some random person actually tells me that I am good looking, I try my hardest to look for the film crew of some gag show or my mom with a wad of cash in the crowd. When I can’t see them, then I know it’s time to wake up.

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Some people think I’m funny. As of current, there are two of them, my reflection and my imaginary friend.

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I don’t mind being honest with people. They, however, have a very different opinion.

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Personally, I don’t think that I am mean. I just see it as having the talent of stating the obvious in a very sarcastic way.

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When people say I have an ugly personality that matches my ugly face, I don’t even waste my time replying. I just take it as a compliment for my consistency.

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Every single time someone says that the world is not a scary place, it takes a lot of my self-control to stop myself from giving that person a mirror.

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I don’t like social media. It’s mean and full of shit and totally fake. Wait, did I just describe social media or the totally of the human race?

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I was having a great time in a bar with some of my friends when a guy followed me to the restroom and asked me if I was gay while obviously playing with his crotch. That was the first time I met a human urinal.

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Every single time a good looking gay guy hits on me, it makes me see just how desperate people are to be with someone.

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My life is like a box of chocolate, without the chocolates, dumped in a garbage bin, with rat holes and a skinny looking rat looking just as disappointed as I am.

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A professor once asked me why I was such a smart-ass. He gave me an “A” as a final grade after our mini-debate. I would have been happy about it if it didn’t come with a receipt from his psychiatrist, asking me to pay six-months worth of counseling.

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I’m torn between really loving and totally despising the movie “Shrek”. For years, the movie industry have been selling false hope to those who are beautiful, now they are trying to get the “uglies” too. I mean, really? Am I that big of a market?

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My neighbor’s kids are screaming because they can’t watch cartoons and I was just sitting there, pulling myself together, trying my hardest not to scream, “I have real problems! If there’s someone who should be screaming, that would be me! Me! Me! Me!”.

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My mom said that I should be happy with my own skin. She forgot to tell me that it doesn’t actually mean walking around naked.

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A teacher once said that I should try to better myself because someone out there is looking up to me expecting me to do great things. I told her to tell that person to be ready for a lifetime of disappointments.

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People have every right to form their own opinion. I also have every right to dissect every single word to prove just how stupid that opinion is. See? Freedom sucks, at least for you.

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I still can’t help but wonder why clothes at a thrift shop can be called “Pre-loved” while people like me stays on the “Unloved” catalog.

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QUESTION: Why are you such a smart-ass?

Me: I wanted to own stupid but everyone else had the same idea that the line was too long. I was too lazy to wait for my doze of stupidity so I transferred to the other line which was totally empty.

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Science has proven that most daughters actually look for a guy that resembles their fathers to become their future husbands. My future daughter is in for a lot of headaches.

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I always listen to meditation music when I browse my Facebook and Twitter feeds. It doesn’t really fix all the stupidity that I see but it makes me realize that it’s not my problem.

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That moment when you open Facebook and you see a very long post by someone you like that you immediately clicked on the link like some starved dog who hasn’t had food for days. Then you start to see all the wrong spelling, wrong grammar, and everything else that is technically wrong about the post that you just want to stick your fingers in your eye sockets and yank your eyeballs out with the hopes of unseeing it.

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A girlfriend would be nice but I am already in a serious relationship with my bed, my pillow, my blanket, my coffee mug, my laptop, my phone, pizza, fries, fired chicken, burger, black chocolate, soda, and my long time relationship with my books, my pen, and some pad of paper where I can right on. Plus the occasional fling with beer, rum, tequila, and whiskey. And of course, there’s my lifetime commitment to sarcasm, fight against idiotic comments, war against wrong grammar, and bullying my friends. So, no thanks.

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Sometimes, you meet someone who can actually drain all the goodness and kindness that you can offer. It makes you want to go back to the time when there were no laws except that of Mother Nature that when you get pissed, you can just get a big rock and smash it on their heads.

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If I tell you that you are my dream, don’t be so happy. Nightmares are dreams too.

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I don’t like the word broken. It gives hope that it can still be fixed. I don’t like the word lost either, it has that dreamy “It can be found” mantra all over it. Broken heart? Lost love? Those won’t work. Maybe, LOVE GONE! Yeah, that sounds just right.

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I used to defend myself about being called gay until I realized that I am defending myself against something that is not even offensive.

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Friend: The best part of being friends with you is the fact that it is almost impossible to fall in love with you since we are friends and I know that you are in love with someone else. The worst part is I still did.

Me: Assumptions always come with great despair. Move on, you’re old enough.

Friend: And you wonder why you’re still single.

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I don’t mind being used by someone. As long as it includes me being naked, in a bed, and totally enjoying the moment.

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I stopped looking for monsters beneath my bed when I realized that they wont be there anymore. Who would stay there anyway when they can get fully air-conditioned rooms in their government offices?

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If you have to hide all your broken pieces just to be loved or be in a relationship with someone, stay single and just love yourself a little more. No one is perfect and no one needs a constant reminder that all they have will never be enough. Those kind of people needs a salute, with your middle finger, and a hug, on the neck, with a rope, being dragged by the fastest fighter jet there is.

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If you can’t bury the pain, bury the bitch.

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I used to dream of a world where you can just stare people down to their death. Then I realized that I would probably be one of the first casualties.

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One is enough, two is a little too much, then there’s three, and three would always mean someone would get left behind. Four on the other hand is an orgy.

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Know where you should be, that’s the lesson. Not all lemons are worth the squeeze.

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Everyone is so caught up with thoughts about their love life early this morning and all I really care about is what I want to eat for breakfast. Like, can you chill?

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So we slept together. Like literally snored beside each other.

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Some people’s grammar are so bad that it just might give me cancer.

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A pretty girl asked me out on a date. I waited until it was over for the punchline.

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I deactivated my social networking accounts to focus on my OJT. Then I realized, how else would I entertain myself if I don’t get to read postings of people who seems to have been born solely to amuse me with their disregard of the proper use of their brains?

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I run out of my apartment unit screaming like a banshee and the landlady almost called the cops until I collected myself enough to tell her that there’s a cockroach flying like a butterfly in my unit. I am now the resident clown of the complex.

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I’m back in the sardines factory! My student enrollment form have been validated.

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They say I should run to be in a better shape. If that was true, I should be the fittest person in existence by now. I’ve been running away from my responsibilities as far as I can remember.

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