Monday, March 09, 2020

A WAR IN POBLACION

Ike XXXIV hated Uncle Ho so Jack XXXV sent advisers, first through encouraging food crawl reviews until LBJ XXXVI escalated by opting for Makati as the first preference, that was until Dick XXXVII's localization spawned a gentrification of the whorehouses, a misrepresented umami chicken from the aptly named Bad Bird and Kermit's deplorable mojito slurpee slipping through the "day that will live in infamy" and earned a declaration of war on Poblacion and its overrated restaurants and lousy cocktails, intense enough to force Jerry XXXVIII's capitulation.


The war rages, Poblacion to be forever expunged and consumed by a pandemic, the parchment to the Lowlands tainted, a burger rinsed in Australian horse pee shrouding the bad news of young age.


Gooks advanced from the countryside to encircle the city but the last marines escaped from a rooftoop on Friday night when poison flowed and preluded the spectacle of jesters pissing down on their sons.  


I own the trails, and I owe a blind man the lesson of winning your battles amidst darkness, of losing a war yet victorious.


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