NECESSITY the mother of inventions?
Totoo ka, mambabatas. A translation: Jodale, legislador. Another translation: Fact you, lawmaker.
It must have taken truckfuls of money to convince honorable members of the Casa de los Diputados to con us, ehek, we mean lump themselves into an appropriate mass with a view to an alteration here, there and everywhere on the 1987 Charter.
Before that sudden flanking move, a gaggle of dullards and laggards were telling people that the nation’s polished future is hinged on an evisceration of the 1987 Charter. As is, the country’s kismet is as midnight dark as the mons of, um, a Tetchie Agbayani in her salad days.
Arguably, we’d rather opt to come into such delicious darkness than try all that spit-and-polish approach to nationhood proffered by ‘em putative people’s deputies—there’s more spit than polish in ‘em.
For all we care, ‘em lawmakers can roll out barrels of arguments for what they see as dire necessity to work over the 1987 Charter.
After all, necessity ought to be the mother of inventions.
We’ve been told a mother-to-be like that must be rendered fertile. That means she has to go on a regime of fertility pills, pumped up with fertility shots to induce regular ovulation. A mom-to-be ought to be horniest when the ovum turns up, sets her gonads on a fifth alarm conflagration.
At such a blissfully paroxysmal stage, it’s a go at unprotected sex.
Pero teka muna, teka muna. Hindi muna dapat ibukaka ang bukana.
Are we allowing a gaggle of greedy dullards and laggards to plug their poles into her hole?
Necessity may be invention’s mom but she ain’t a whore, no sirs. She ain’t a slut. She’s no bitch. She won’t open ‘em thighs for anybody.
So we’re telling ‘em lawmakers to have a go at each other.
And we’re telling ‘em lawmakers to jack off.
Totoo ka, mambabatas. A translation: Jodale, legislador. Another translation: Fact you, lawmaker.
It must have taken truckfuls of money to convince honorable members of the Casa de los Diputados to con us, ehek, we mean lump themselves into an appropriate mass with a view to an alteration here, there and everywhere on the 1987 Charter.
Before that sudden flanking move, a gaggle of dullards and laggards were telling people that the nation’s polished future is hinged on an evisceration of the 1987 Charter. As is, the country’s kismet is as midnight dark as the mons of, um, a Tetchie Agbayani in her salad days.
Arguably, we’d rather opt to come into such delicious darkness than try all that spit-and-polish approach to nationhood proffered by ‘em putative people’s deputies—there’s more spit than polish in ‘em.
For all we care, ‘em lawmakers can roll out barrels of arguments for what they see as dire necessity to work over the 1987 Charter.
After all, necessity ought to be the mother of inventions.
We’ve been told a mother-to-be like that must be rendered fertile. That means she has to go on a regime of fertility pills, pumped up with fertility shots to induce regular ovulation. A mom-to-be ought to be horniest when the ovum turns up, sets her gonads on a fifth alarm conflagration.
At such a blissfully paroxysmal stage, it’s a go at unprotected sex.
Pero teka muna, teka muna. Hindi muna dapat ibukaka ang bukana.
Are we allowing a gaggle of greedy dullards and laggards to plug their poles into her hole?
Necessity may be invention’s mom but she ain’t a whore, no sirs. She ain’t a slut. She’s no bitch. She won’t open ‘em thighs for anybody.
So we’re telling ‘em lawmakers to have a go at each other.
And we’re telling ‘em lawmakers to jack off.
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