MANGKOKOLUM!

PIG-HEADED infidels and lesser mortals often savor this silly notion: You are what you eat. Thus, they pig out on delicious drippings off so-called pork barrel to the consternation of dirt-poor and pigsty-dwelling folks grubbing on less than P50 a day. Some are wont to bring home the bacon and relish crisp-fried morsels lavished on such staples as carbonara or finger-suckin’ goodness of Boston baked beans. Some would like to ham it up in showmanship, go for such rare delight at $80 a pound as bellota jamon Iberico — produced from free-ranging swine foraging on cork acorns that infuse the meat with an opulent nutty flavor and tender texture. Cordillera natives take pride in their inasin —salted chunks of pork hung upon the hearth to amass a symphony of flavors from whatever’s cooking, why, even a frugal slice added to broth or brew can whip up a bit of ambrosia, transform frugal fare into a feast. We can go easy on pig knuckles culled off pata negra —ah, the meat off those mountain-dwel...

ONION-SKINNED we are as any bank’s armored vehicle, a segment of unreeling news events for a month or so has nudged our noggin to coyly rework within a local context and setting a 1970s kung-fu flick, Rikishi kuri. Doesn’t anybody remember one Dexter Won who was hitched as rickshaw boy in that no-brainer movie? Viewers won’t mind an outright rip-off so let’s plunk down the same frayed plot in Tala, a convenient cross between agrestic idylls of Bulacan and the noisome concrete jungle of Caloocan City’s southern spread. Begin with a blast in broad daylight-- a ragtag crew of cops moonlighting as holduppers pump buckets of ammo on a hapless purified water peddler who reportedly also works for RPN Channel 9 as camera man. Fully perforated victim bleeds to death as the culprits cart away his day’s earnings. Dump the rickshaw in Rikishi kuri , use a local vehicle relevant to our version of coolie labor. Yeah, a tricycle! Any convenient stand-in for Dexter Won witnesses the crime, recognizes...

DUBYA Bush will likely be on pins and needles for the next two years before his inevitable dumping in the 2008 elections. His Republican party mates’ hold on Congress chucked loose by the recent mid-term vote, the U.S. head of state will be in for a lot of grilling as lawmakers less friendly to Bush gird for an investigative spree. America had thrown billions of dollars and thousands of lives in the Bush-sponsored global war against terror. The war wasn’t exactly global in scope—it was a fray largely of Bush’s making against Iraq. Dubya insisted that Iraqi president Saddam Hussein was holding on to a huge cache of weapons of mass destruction that could be launched against the US mainland or any of its ally nations. After years of occupying Iraq along with an all-out search of every inch of Iraqi territory, not a faint trace of those so-called weapons of mass destruction was found. All that was accomplished was a systematic looting of ancient artifacts and relics of a millenia-old cultu...

THE doctors gave up on him. Terminal cancer. He’s left with precious bunch of days to endure the pain that wracks his insides before breathing his last. Most times, he is under heavy sedation. Pain-killers. Probably morphine or any of its derivatives flooding his bloodstream. In opiate stupor, his awareness is tossed between drowsiness and dreamy wakefulness. The pain dulled, he drifts in waves of passing comfort. It would be futile to kindle small talk, just to hear his voice no longer raised in argument or greeting. As the waves of pain surge through him, the numbness fades. He’d wince in recognition of familiar faces and voices, mostly of friends he hasn’t seen in weeks, maybe months. In opiate comfort he would be beyond us. Only in pain would he be with us now. Nabanggit ko na minsan sa kanya na mas masahol pa sa pokpok ang hanapbuhay ng manunulat. Sa ngayon. Panahon pa ni Carlos Bulosan sa kaigtingan ng tinatawag na The Great Depression noong mga taon ng 1930 nang naging patakara...

‘TWAS some years back in Agoo, La Union where a psychic healer prayed smack over my brows to pry open the so-called third eye. I was told not to womanize too much as such a habit causes the peephole into another reality to gather wool— most likely pubic hair—over the extra eye. I reasoned with the healer that only a nun could drop a habit and she’ll probably be taking a bath or indulge in something more interesting to watch. So that thingy between the eyebrows is now open for business. Open but not as gaping though as the splayed thighs of a maiden doing a split maybe a banana split. I was told that the extra sense of sight would allow me to heal ill folks. I shirked from that task, stymied at the prospect of actually causing afflictions to fade away. With a toast followed by a thirsty swig of suds, I made the point clear: “Here’s to the wound that never heals! The more you scratch it the better it feels.” I was warned that with that augmented sense of sight I’d be seeing things out of...

AS that ancient manual on sex-- Kama Sutra —would have it, congress is two people of opposite sexes screwing each other. The Congress we’ve grown too familiar with to the point of contempt, why, Congress isn’t only the opposite of progress. Congress is viewed by pundits as over 200 people screwing the entire nation—and we’re not even enjoying their mode of coition. More than the perks and pork that send ‘em members of Congress into feeding frenzy, there are certain denizens there who dangle monies—shucked off taxpayers’ pockets, of course—to any well-stacked broad or number they take a fancy to or get the hots on. A little birdie told us about this putative lawmaker on the prowl for young, fresh carcass, the supposedly hard-to-get types which induces any frog—filthy rotten old goat, that’s what it is—to drool like a famished canine. A frog like that is also called palakaplog. This particular lawmaker skips the niceties of the chase. Why go through the travails of a chase when oodles an...