When Self-Proclaimed Superiority is Alarmingly Mutating to Stereotypical Stupidity

I always thought that I was never born stupid, or if it ’s something that you decide on, that I never chose to be stupid.

 Given the useless statistics of almost 6.7 billion morons currently managing boring lives, five soon-to-be suckers laid out into this macrocosm every 3 seconds, and an estimated nine billion ignoramuses manning this shitty hell by 2050, I have always believed that I am one diabolical genius lined up in the exceptional genes of Vincent Van Gogh or Albert Einstein or J.D. Salinger or heck, even gawd-tell-me-my-genes-trace-back-to-the-lineage-of-this-Renaissance-man Leonardo da Vinci.

Spare me the pfft and aghast facial contortions. That I studied always ahead of my class for almost 16 years (two in pre-elem, six in elementary, four in high school, and almost five in college) should be enough proof of my sheer one-of-a-kindness. Yes, I am arrogant, a fuckin’ piece of narcissistic angst-ridden bastard whose superiority can never be found in the commonplace. But my claim to self-importance is something that is not unfounded. My pride has basis. Now, if you find it too hard to accept this assertion because you think you’re far more superior than me, then by all means, close this tab and go fuck your neighbor’s wife’s wet cunt instead.

Okay, so you’re still reading. Shall we go on then?

When I was in high school, I have never mingled too much with my classmates because they reek of too much mundaneness and stereotypes. If I speak to them just so I could kill the fuck-me-Freddy school time, I find myself queasy and vomit-ready. I don’t know about you but when I was in high school, I always wished for a far worthier class discussions and seatmates. Something whose conversations do not only border on last night’s recycled tearjerkers in primetime TV or on his/her clusterfuck I-am-the-center-of-the-solar-system litanies. It was odd because at that time, I’d rather read cozily at home and meet quirky, eccentric people in the pages of engaging tomes than spend the time inside a claustrophobic four-walled box out of friggin’ boredom.

Fine, so I am an introverted freak. But before you shove that clichéd No man is an island shit up my ass, I would like to tell you that I have friends, a select few who can tolerate my arrogance and bastardly ways. I am hard to please and I rarely give applause to anyone except myself, save of course if you really deserve it. I may look wholly ordinary but deep down inside I have a Dexter monster lurking within, ready to devour pathetic, worthless twits. If you’re one of them, better scramble and run; because I can be sleepless 24 hours straight with intellectual discourses but I can doze off right away with senseless, pointless discussions.  Would you even believe that my quirkiness even reached a point when I had my everyday conversations with my friends in English, all in its bloody US accent, just because I liked the sound of myself in American twang? Haha! Superiority overdose, I tell you.

Wait, have I already mentioned that I used to go to school back then almost always at least 20 to 30 minutes late? I mean, the whole class can go on with the day’s topics without me and I can still cope with the subject matter with only a book and sans a frothing high school teacher at that. I rarely participate in class discussions and I recite in front of the class only when called upon by the freakin’ teacher. I hate bearing with the pseudo-teacher’s style of rereading the book’s contents and passing it to the class as if it was his own and we should thank him for being a friggin’ priced asset. Fuck that style of teaching. And double fuck the teachers that subscribe to it. They deserve nothing less than being annihilated in the clusterfuck hell oven.

Of course my innate self-proclaimed superiority never died down when I went to college. This was the time when I thought I had more right and authority to ridicule the cardboard box people who think they’re too indispensable in the ancient college bureaucracy. I had more courage to berate most of my college instructors since their freakin’ salary is basically coming from the pockets of the enrolled students, this fuck-me-Freddy narcissistic bastard included.

My claim to infamous superiority and angst-ridden bastardness reached its boiling point when an instructor (I refuse to call her a professor up to this day) got irked and threatened to file a lawsuit against me for publishing a student’s comment in our college paper. The student aforementioned only vented out what exactly he felt at that time, saying in gist that he was not learning anything useful in his subject under the teaching tutelage of the mad instructor, considering that he’s paying thousands of pesos for that subject alone and that the subject is, in fact, one of the subjects soon-to-be hurled in the CPA Board Exams.

I was the school editor, I treated the comment well within the right to freedom of expression, and I published his statement in the feedbacks section. The instructor, on the other hand, found the statement defamatory, saying that it ridiculed her I-don’t-fuckin’-care-how-many-years of teaching and her supposed good stature in the university. I consulted a lawyer with my equally self-proclaimed superior (haha!) PolSci friends and was advised to just shrug the fuck-me-Freddy lawsuit off my system. The case was inexistent. Nada. Nil. Of course it is not permissible, or at the slightest thought of possibility, it will take years for a case of libel to be proven valid. The famed Philippine Star columnist Art Borjal called Cory an imp cowering under her bed while sieges and mass protestations attacked the Malacañang Palace left and right and the fuming Yellow Prexy filed a libel case against the opinion writing avant garde. But even while one of my favorite columnists is now lying six feet under, the libel case has never been proven. Ha! Eat shit douche bag academe bitch!

That was an all-time high for me, personally; one that highlighted my college life’s growing bastardly ways; not only because she called me names, even dragging my personal life to tell one and all that I am a good-for-nothing, pretending smartass with an acerbic pen (Tell me then, how can you call someone a worthy professor if, being hurled with lazy teacher-from-hell moniker, that person resorts to vile propaganda tactics instead of matter-of-factly discussions?) but also because she threw the white flag first in the end. Yes, we kissed and made up and the hatchet was buried but I still felt triumphant for I stood my ground, remained with my side of the story, and posed superiority with all the rigmarole.

So where is this fucked up grandstanding going, I hear you asking. Well, screw you for not being patient enough. I’m going there. But then again, if patience is a virtue, then I’m not also a virtuous man. So I guess I deserve a crisp fuck you to myself as well. All is fair in love and R18 profanities. Anyway, here’s the compendium of my self-proclaimed superiority going down the drains:

Of course I’ve already told you in the last post that I was a moron for going to work on January 1 with the wrong jeepney, stupid enough not to even notice that the PUV was not coursing the familiar City Hall-Taft-Buendia route. Fuckin’ stupid me, huh? Well, just recently, I had the clusterfuck rewind of dumbass stupidity once again.

There I was, in the middle of humming Eraserhead’s Hard to Believe (Fuck, the song was so me I swear that I suspect the cryptic band was thinking of me when they were writing the song. Haha!), spotting early morning chicks pass by, when all of a sudden, I realized there was no wallet bulging in the right pocket of my baggy pants. Oh-fuckin’-jeezuzchrist! Why am I trying to live out the blendered prototype of Ed, Edd, and Eddy?

So I felt my pockets again, tugged the compartments inside and out, but still found no black Girbaud cache within. Frantic, I even thought I got pickpocketed and immediately scanned the faces of the suspicious passengers. And then it occurred to me that just that morning, I was ridding my wallet of receipts and assorted bills and condom wrappers, er…I mean, and all other accumulated trash and left it on the bed while I rushed to brush my teeth. Stupid, stupid me!

It’s a good thing I had some left pennies in my pockets at that time and used them to pay for fare from España to Pedro Gil. Now, the next friggin’ problem was where to get the money to hitch a ride from Taft to Buendia and from Buendia to Makati. I guess there was this bit of good soul still left within me for in spite of the narcissistic, angst-ridden bastardly ways eating up my system and in the middle of thinking about posing for early cheap sex for gays and matronas, along came Binchee – my ever-reliable teammate to the rescue!

So I’m cutting the long crap and suffice it to say that I got to my work on time courtesy of Binchee. Oh, and thanks to his hundred bucks, I managed to spend lunch at a Ministop convenience store, crabbily passing out my alarmingly increasing stupidity with some cheap mashed rice and a friggin’ piece of too-much-bread-crumbed chicken.

I have a feeling 2009 is really not my year. This early, it’s already lashing me with my newfound stupidity. Gawd knows what else is in store for me in the coming days, months. Oh fuck-me-Freddy clusterfuck, I am now cringing at the thought! Dear gawd, I would like to compromise: I’m willing to halve my narcissistic, angst-ridden bastardly ways over the next few days. Just please don’t swap my self-proclaimed superiority with stereotypical stupidity.