By: Iris P. Concepcion
"The dinosaurs are no longer there to tell the tale." (Conrad de Quiros)
"Until you hear their thunderous farts." (Me).
Thankfully, when I was left orphaned for more than a year now, the whole universe conspired to bring me numerous sets of parents, siblings, relatives, friends that had been sired, perhaps in Mordor or Paradise (take your pick) that I need to deal with.
As one of them had pointed out, the benign, humorous and often times facetious repercusssions did not dent my own sanctuary of conscientious refuge. In fact, they have taken much of the platforms without speaking but are nonetheless comedic anyway.
I especially love the male ordinates of the mammalian world. They had gifted one of the kids before an elbowing and mean-looking dragon toy. They appear like apparitions in in flashes of mist, pretending to turn into dew to be adorned in tulips later on. Of course, the symbiosis here is mutual. They want to capture if I would laugh. When I do, they leave. Their missions had been accomplished. Even their birthday cards drip of Saturday Night Live.
I maintain that these writers and artists are the best performers you can encounter on Earth. They cry on cue, snkcer on cue, look aghast on cue and they even sneeze on cue.
One of the plots had me engage in biblical interactions with a woman. Once captured, the conversations always made sense.
One of the corn offspring replicated this. He was made to haver a dialogue with a beautiful preacher.
When asked if he believes men are animals, he sheepishly replied:
"He he he he, di ko alam e....," with halting laughs. Irksome actually.
Even under these terms of Godly discussions, you would always know who won.
Beware of these offspring I before warned. These kids can eat dust if they want to. They do not squeak like me at the sight of cockroaches crawling madly in foyers. They find humor in everything that they do.
That is how you live; that you wake up with the rest of the world crumbling down on you but is still at peace. You pay thousands for this in shrinks, I see mine for free.
And you know the reason why: you own THAT world and you can rebuild it again.
Happy Birthday in advance to a favorite columnist of mine, Conrado de Quiros. He owns that stadium at the Rizal Park. Kidding. For refusing to conform to the norm and for continuously flushing out the timbres off the badly aligned instruments, thank you for remaining alive.
I would love to watch this guy square-off in hilarity with that other wrestling word giant, The Bear Bull.
A word of beautiful tale: ditch the print copies of your newspapers once in a while. Our online versions had gone exceptional in content and design. Both the Philippine Daily Inquirer and the Philippine Star have superb online lay-outs now. Manila Bulletin had been there ahead actually. Its one-page photographs are stunning.
Onward, clown troops!