COMEDY HOUR
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Of course, the carpet had been laid long way before Dave Guerrero, who I am name dropping here to project that I am familiar with the Red Hot Chili Pepper rock group, had set the pace for the Pamela Anderson face-off.

It started centuries ago, in front of  abundant coyotes and wildlife. A picture was taken out from a print newspaper and this is calumny at its best as I juxtapose fact and fiction, bannered for us to comment on.

The models did not look like models. They wore bikinis in front of  swampy mangroves in stilettos. A bystander was asked if  it is fitting. Bomber Moran or someone who looks like him, was sniggering nearby. He is a political bigwig in a Sampaloc barangay. One never misses his area. A lot of religious sculptures adorn his territory.

The bystander spewed off : "Why is her boob peeking out?"

I replied that the brassiere may be too small for the model.

Kibitzers who know Henry Longfellow, Nick Joaquin and Quentin Tarantino are sprouting by millions along the coasts of popular culture discussing about bracelets, blood donation and the wonders of fish ponds. While a lot will argue for the higher sphere of culture, it is benumbing to discover  that the lower caste life  forms are generating more and more quality critique for and or against the Universe without minding their underlined words. I had begun my postulation long way before the Mactan Island was discovered that people of genius create the most vibrant atmosphere for this variety of interactions. Writers are the best comedians on Earth, bar none. They shall feign and feign and feign.

Thus, it is with much pride that I had been rebuked by fellows thirty years younger than me. When words fail me, they deliver their chopped rhymes. I know for a fact the wide reach of their imagination: graspable and colloquial. It may seem odd to see them loitering the pages of popular opinion but they do their homework without being bound by a rough stick. Even the experts are baffled by this phenomenon, akin to the happy side of the Apocalypse. Even their parental styles clash. It may be disorganized but at dawn, before the chicken crow and footsteps sidled, their area gets squeaky clean. Upclose, it is similar to the germination of a possible US sitcom. Others brood; this class broods, but with goofy giraffe slippers on.

Case in point:

A buffet was laid for hungry earthlings. The participants knew very well that the previous servings, prepared by the kimono clique, tasted better. Coming out from the food garage, the lead actress bought a lot of Big Sheet seaweed and it proved to be the best tasting fare in the entire gastronomic tour. We had snubbed shrimps, crabs, barbecues, steaks, gelatos, golden lamps, for this.

I do wish for a lecturer to investigate on this phenomenon and how it may affect the shaping of  popular culture in the future. Our destiny hinges only on one fact: "Is happiness economically viable?" Get one hundred respondent samplings and form your conclusion with percentage highlights. Mind your indentions.

Thailand has taught me a lot of practical things, foremost of which is to laugh at yourself despite being barraged by a conservative environment. Its popular mediums are never bereft of engaging visuals and catchy lines. It taught me how to tile the floors, how to cook food with some of the ingredients lacking. It also taught me where to get good merchandise at the lowest possible price.

I thank God for being hauled off here. The finest political drama and comedy of all times converged here.