“DON’T terrorize me again. Not these days when methane farts off Glorietta and Gloria.”
Thus I farted off a few pesos worth of text messages like that after my son sent a
Blame not this sucker for a quote on quietude: “Don’t speak unless you can improve the silence.” Besides, suction slurps louder than words.
I don’t have to explain to folks I plied that two-sentence note to that methane buildup stems from corruption and rotten organic discards. If the gas buildup isn’t confined in a structure of sound integrity, lots of gas—and guise like lame excuses and news releases—are issued off. Such bouts of oral flatulence can be nauseous.
The guys I sent that message to don’t have to be told in length that suspicions are rife over the methane buildup in either Glorietta or Gloria—just keep an open ear and nostrils that can hear and smell where flatulence bursts out.
Flatulence need not sully the air. It ought to be kept in chambers that can withstand tremendous pressure—mostly internal. Why, methane has the same chemical makeup of propane, butane, and acetylene. It’s a tenable combination of carbon and hydrogen, burns off as carbon dioxide and water. It is earth-friendly clean fuel, harnessed and tabbed with a technical term—CNG or compressed natural gas, a bit denser than LPG. Flatulence can be piped into suitable storage tanks, fed to engines that can run transport vehicles or plant turbines.
If memory serves right, ‘twas Yen Makabenta who retrieved “methinks” out of ’s fairy tales, plied it out to spice his ruminations on politics. Here comes an erstwhile beer buddy from those same parts, one who must have thought LPG can be made to stand in lieu of LPP—that bloke spouted off, methinks, a gush of methane.
That he did after reportedly doling out
So most of those benchwarmers hailed from a so-called Gas Chamber. They do farting shots there, farting is such sweet sorrow.
I’d say that wasn’t gas. ‘Twas grease.
And wasn’t Grease a Broadway musical with a score of boring songs that benchwarmers and provincial top dogs can sing bow-wow-wow and dance something like Itaktak Mo to?
Such sumptuous sums as
Deal ‘em cards as a has-Ben Evardone does, we’ll take the cards. We’ll not take to the game.