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2A4B3A5B [Aug. 23rd, 2012|06:18 pm]
boytropolis
Late to the BBM party but hey. Add me!
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Podi Alejandro [May. 21st, 2012|04:19 pm]
boytropolis
Hey P,

I’m trying to remember how we first met. It was during our web design days, right? One of us commented on the other’s guestbook in praise of the other’s website... Or was it on IRC? I forgot the beginning, but I remember it was a really fun time to be online. We had passions to pursue, not just memes or blogs or social networks with “friends” we don’t even know. People connected back then. Online friends became genuine friends. The internet was just a tool.

How did we end up being real life friends? It’s all so long ago, and all so vague. (Pardon me, I was never known for having good memory.) We hit the clubs and the street parties and talked a lot about books we read, music we listened to, things we wanted to do. We hung out a lot back then, no? We drank a lot, maybe a little too much, while disparaging dumb guys with our deadly wit. We’re a sarcastic bunch of alcoholics.

On my 19th birthday we watched Mean Girls, diba? That was a riot. Who knew people will still quote lines from it till now? And the movies you downloaded (in your room full of religious figurines)... Dude, you had really good taste. I mean, fine, there’s only so much Sailormoon I can take before it starts getting ridiculous. You were a huge fan of that anime. I loved Bunny Tsukino—whom you call by her real name, Usagi—but your fandom was intense. You downloaded everything: the series, the spin-offs, the live action series, the movie. Did you buy Sailormoon action figures? I think you did... I think I remember seeing some atop your TV or computer table. Wait, this was about your taste in movies. You showed me Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Shortbus. You were artsy before it was cool, you freaking hipster. We stayed up until morning drinking Red Horse and watching indie films or searching YouTube for videos of Jem and the Holograms. You also lent me your friend’s CDs of Queer as Folk. I still have it here somewhere.

We talked on the phone a lot, too. Mostly about my issues, then your issues, then how our issues were so similar. What a bunch of manic-depressives. Together we opened the floodgates of hate, drama, angst, bitterness, or any other sad emotion we stored inside our chests, then soaked in there like Japanese men in a hot sauna.

I wanted to say “Japanese” because you liked Japanese food. And cheesecake. You loved cheesecake. I don’t understand it, though. I agree it’s delicious, but your liking for cheesecake was kind of weird, perhaps even over the top. When I asked you one benefit of having a boyfriend, you said: “So someone can bring you cheesecake.”

But then again, you were weird. I was weird. The wiring in our brains were pretty messed up.

We both knew we weren’t normal people. We felt above those simpletons with their shallow ideas of human suffering. They think they know pain? Ha. Fuck them. We knew better, dammit. But like anything so overpowering, it got the best of us. (On the bright side, it made us write well. Design well. And, in your case, draw well.) Screwed as we are, we briefly talked about seeing a psychiatrist. I never went to one—even if I needed to, especially now—but you did. You hated it. Why? I never asked you why. I never delved deeper.

Don’t get me wrong, P. You’re a good guy. That much I know. Our intellectual arrogance never went beyond our private conversations, but we were too smart for our own good. Did we ask for so much? Were we too self-absorbed to see that this world is not just about our lives?

Yeah, I know... I’m lecturing again, as if I know better. You hated that, but you’re too polite to tell me. You hated know-it-alls. Hated, hated, hated them. You hated people who were quick to brag about things they know or did or experienced. Well, sometimes, it’s not showing off but just sharing. That’s what I did. That’s what he did. (You know exactly who I’m talking about. I never defended him because it was nothing but an inside joke, even if I thought he’s one of the good guys. He’s one of us.)

Why did we never discuss those little things that slowly killed our friendship? We can be a bunch of drama queens, but we never sat down and talked about the issues in our own relationship. Maybe we thought it’s not a big problem because we never fought. We respected each other. And we knew that sometimes, inevitably, friends grow apart.

I tried to find my way back, only to see that I’ve changed and you’re still the same.

Remember that last night of Anthology? I really wanted to go with you for the last time before it closed. We loved that bar. It was the best place to drink in Malate, and now it’s gone. And now you are, too.

You know what hurts the most, Paolo? We didn’t get back the friendship that we lost. I was still hopeful. We were good guys. I learned to manage my drama, and you became more reclusive, more distant. The pain and anger consumed you, and I hate that I wasn’t there to pull you up. I was waiting for fate—or the cosmos or God or whatever can magically bridge the gap between us—to bring back the friendship we once had. You never asked for help, and I didn’t want to intrude. It was your life, after all. And somehow, I knew this is how you wanted it to end. There were signs, but I never imagined you’ll do it, never entertained the idea. There’s only so much we can do. The rest is your fight. But you didn’t have to fight alone.

I’m so sorry. You hate it when I talk like this. You hated it when you’re alive and I’m sure you’ll hate it now. But that’s how I am, P. I’ve been fighting all my life and I will probably fight until I die. It’s unfair to say you only wanted romantic love—I don’t know that for sure—but the heartbreaks… When I remember your stories of heartbreaks, something tells me you’re already dead inside. You’re just living the days and going through the motions. I don’t blame you; that’s the last thing I want to do. This is what you want. I am just sorry I didn’t reach out soon enough, and I am sorry I wanted to keep you as a distant friend than be hated for meddling with your personal life.

I’ll never know if you’re sorry, but I forgive you. Taking your own life is a selfish act toward the people who love you. But maybe the pain was too fucking much. Maybe you felt this world isn’t worth the trouble. Dude, I know that feeling. I can never put myself in your place, but I know that feeling. So if this is what you really wanted, if this is the kind of freedom that you’re looking for, then go and be free.

Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for letting me know you. Thank you for making those memories with me. For the short time you were alive, even for a few moments, I hope you felt love and happiness. It was there. Maybe it didn’t look like it, but it was there.

I’ll miss you, Paolo.

Barny
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mistress [Oct. 20th, 2011|09:14 pm]
boytropolis
My heart will (go on?) always be in LJ... Pero minsan, kailangan talaga mag-move on. 'Yun ang dahilan kung bakit nandoon na ako sa Tumblr.

Huwag ka mag-alala, boytropolis, babalikan pa rin kita paminsan-minsan. Marami pa tayong sikreto at problemang pag-uusapan.
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your self [Sep. 4th, 2011|02:21 pm]
boytropolis
"Never give anyone power over you. The power to put you down, to make you feel bad and to diminish your worth and capabilities."

Brilliant quote, sir. I will remember it.
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"and everything went from wrong to right" [Jul. 18th, 2011|07:26 pm]
boytropolis
The year was 1997. I was on the phone with Irish, my Grade 6 classmate, while we were both watching MTV. New music videos were currently on their playlist, so we both decided to critique the songs and artists. A new band called The Moffats faired poorly; we judged them as another Hanson wannabe. George Michael was too mature for our high fructose tween pop taste.



When Kylie Minogue came in with her “Did It Again” video, we were thoroughly amused. Hey look, she's playing four versions of herself in different skin tones. And they're all fighting! We got that she's making a parody of her career with the “Cute Kylie”, “Dance Kylie” and “Little Misschievious Sex Kylie” personas but what is “Indie Kylie” and when did she happen? (Years later I will discover that “Did It Again” is Indie Kylie.)

It was 2002. “Can't Get You Out Of My Head” became the biggest comeback of the decade, landing Kylie a spot in the Billboard charts' Top 10—an extremely difficult feat for non-American artists—and generating buzz through a white jumpsuit with a neckline to her belly button. I was studying Psychology in college and teaching myself web design. This was the peak of the blog craze, mIRC chatrooms, message boards, “grand eyeballs”, a time when it felt natural to post sensitive feelings for the whole internet to see.



“Love At First Sight” was released as a single and aside from the song being an excellent dance track, the music video complemented the Bohemian undertones of its lyrics. It showed Kylie flailing and dancing among robotic dancers in bright, cheesy costumes (that looked like the Jazz Age vision of clothing in the future) amidst a monochromatic landscape of blocks, walls and line-based animation. My dreams of graphic design soared after seeing this, inspiring me to encapsulate these visuals in my blog's banner. Except for the grayish-green color and thin white lines, the result looked nothing like the video. I can argue I was blinded by love.

Five years ago, 2006. I bought Kylie Minogue's Showgirl (The Greatest Hits Tour) on DVD and was stunned by its production values. It had huge screens from which her dancers can show off their gym-sculpted bodies. The sleek and polished choreography was made more grandiose by the intricate structure of their costumes. The theme was “showgirl”, after all, and the aesthetics of Las Vegas and Broadway were sufficiently duplicated. I watched this concert everyday for three months, sometimes playing it in the background while I did something else. A soundtrack to my life, if you will. It mostly evoked light and positive thoughts, but a sad emotional connection with a particular song happened one Sunday morning.



It was around six in the morning and I just arrived home from a date with someone I really liked. I spent Saturday afternoon with him but had to attend a birthday party in the evening, so we decided to meet again later that night. Everyone had a cellphone by this time, but he had none. I thought that was charming. (He can very well afford it; the guy's a college instructor). We met by the fountain in front of the Malate Church. He was sitting there happily waiting for me. Fast forward to Sunday morning, he decided it was best if we remain friends because as fate would play it, he was an instructor in my college. He would not start a relationship with a student in his school. When I got home, I wanted to cheer myself up with the showgirl. On playing “Hand On Your Heart”, I realized how bittersweet my situation was. “Put your hand on your heart and tell me / It's all over / I won't believe it till you put your hand on your heart and tell me / That we're through,“ she sang in a new musical arrangement that had the song explode from a crescendo. From its 80s dance pop origins the song was transformed into a house anthem but never losing the heartbreak in its core. Quite fitting for a perfect night with an amazing guy that never happened again.

2010. Life has been hard in many ways I can't even begin to explain. If there was one thing that I get from listening to Kylie, it's the reminder that whatever happens, you just deal with it. You continue to live. I have to be humbled by a woman who survived breast cancer. She doesn't write most of her songs but for some reason I don't understand, her lyrics sound like life lessons to me. I am aware of how absurd this seems—really, life lessons from a pop song called “Get Outta My Way”?



It's probably the effect of fandom, reading my own interpretation of songs that may probably mean nothing. But is life not meant to be taken as such? Making your own rules, overcoming obstacles and adapting to every situation so you can enjoy every living, breathing minute? Is “Spinning Around” not a declaration of freedom from pains of the past, of appreciating your flaws and working for your own redemption? Is “Better The Devil You Know” not an advice to never lose your head in and outside of romance? I don't do this all the time, of course. You can only read between the lines of “All The Lovers” so much before admitting all she wants to do is dance, so why won't you move?

This year, 2011. On the fifth of July, on a Tuesday night in Araneta Coliseum, Kylie performed in Manila for the very first time. It was a moment I have dreamed of happening. To finally see her in person, hear her sing live, experience the whole concert. That's what it was to me...an experience. Like losing a loved one or finishing school or fighting with a dear friend, the intensity of what I felt was indescribable. For someone who writes for a living, this concert has rendered me speechless. You can imagine my euphoria when she looked at me and reached out her hand while she sang “Love At First Sight”. It was a moment in my life where I was completely happy, the entire experience a reminder of how I should play along the scenes for every day. Work for your art with a burning passion. Surround yourself with inspiring people. Always aim for the best results. Leave a good, lasting impression. Have fun because the world will always have a reason to bring you down, and you have all the capabilities to take it all up. This is what she says to me. This is why I believe in Kylie Minogue.

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you know this is just partly autobiographical [Jun. 6th, 2011|10:32 pm]
boytropolis
What does it mean to be a mid-twenties person nowadays?

You get a job, you stay in that job, you do well, you get promoted, you make a few enemies, you meet some friends for the lifetime, you do your own work, you do other people's work, you do work you've never done before, you learn, you lose some of those learnings, you realize some things you've learned should not have been learned in the first place, you learn of more opportunities outside the company, you quit your job to get another job, you get burned out, you realize it's the same things happening all over again, you stay at your job, you think of other career options, you get the courage to pursue that career or you stay at your job.

You wrap up the work day, you meet your friends, you have dinner, you talk about who is busy doing what, you start texting other friends to join the group, you decide where to go, you settle in a familiar bar or club, you start getting bored, you start drinking a bottle, you start drinking two bottles, you start looking around the room to flirt, you dance a little, you get back to your friends with a joke, you drink your fourth bottle, you dance with your friends, you talk with a stranger, you transfer to another club, you drink more than you've expected, you get drunk, you say something and realize it didn't make sense, you start to slur while flirting, you leave the place, you decide to eat, you sober up with hot food or the morning light, you go home in a dusty cab, you sleep the whole weekend away.

You meet someone, you go out a few times, you have the best sex you've had in years, you find the conversations are interesting, you start to stop looking for other dates, you daydream about exclusively dating this person, you start to become honest with your feelings, you fall deeply in love, you end up being a couple for months or years or you end up having sex and you never see each other again.

You gain a new friend, you lose an old friend, you start rekindling lost connections, you speak with people you've never talked with since high school through online networks, you have a get-together with people you don't remember, you attend a party with people you used to hate, you act like everyone is a buddy from way back, you develop new friendships, you discover why some friendships never materialized, you wonder why it took everyone this long to reunite, you wonder why your closest friends were so far away, you appreciate the deep foundation of the relationships you made, you become a godparent, you say goodbye because of migration, you miss the times when everything seemed simpler and you get back to reality.

You get smarter with every mistake, you fear more about the future, you learn to live and let go, you try to enjoy the moment, you bury pieces of your past, you feel more mature yet even more incapacitated, you start to lose interest in the things you loved before, you hold on to passion as if your life depended on it, you fight the cynicism and jadedness, you listen to self-help speakers and read inspirational quotes, you try to find a meaning for your life and everything that's happening in it, you stay at a standstill, you let the motions move you through the phases, you ride and keep riding and wonder where or what you'll end up next.

You try to enjoy the life you have.

You realize that's about the only thing that matters.
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shot [May. 29th, 2011|04:41 am]
boytropolis
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blue collar bromance [Apr. 17th, 2011|07:59 am]
boytropolis
Blue_collar_bromance

No homo.

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doctor soice [Mar. 3rd, 2011|06:50 pm]
boytropolis
Enhanced-buzz-15388-1299093770

You're wrong as the deuce
And you shouldn't rejoice
If you're calling him Seuss.
He pronounces it Soice.

Didn't know all this time
Think and thought it be right
The big purpose of rhyme
Hard to win in a fight

What you knew all along
Like the sound of your voice
And to speak in sing-song
Is it not very noice?

Word.

(from here)

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on cheating [Feb. 20th, 2011|06:16 pm]
boytropolis
Last night my friends and I were discussing the different ways people can save a relationship. Starting from the premise of a loving couple who accepted the sanctity of monogamy, the four us had conflicting opinions that randomly met at tangents, but basically stood out from different grounds.

K admits to cheating. He doesn't like it, but thinks it's normal not just for him but for everyone. He loves his partner but because of a few necessities that will not be provided, K took the initiative to sleep with other people behind his partner's back. He is a martyr because he will stick with the person he loves, even if this person does not complete him, and sometimes even destroying him.

T will not cheat, at least consciously. If he ever fucks anyone besides his partner, he will admit that fact with brutal honesty. He knows the consequences, painfully aware of the devastation this might cause his lover. But T would rather have it all flat out than go through the relationship in denial. If the tables were turned—if his partner cheats on him—he will forgive. As far as I remember, he is undecided if he will forget, or how many times the forgiveness can be laid.

A will not cheat, would not be cheated to, will not tolerate cheating. If this is reason enough to break up with her partner, she cannot say. She just doesn't know. But what's hers is hers, and if a partner decides to exclusively date her, they enter an agreement of not screwing anybody else no matter what circumstance.

As for myself: if sex becomes a deciding factor in my relationship, I would rather confront the issue without anybody messing my parameters. Trust and honesty is very important to me, and when a breach of trust happens, I take a long while to recover. I would rather get hurt in the face now than be stabbed slowly in the back. I believe in casual sex, and in the inherent libido of people, and that a loveless fuck can successfully transpire without any emotions being compromised. But at the back of my mind...

I cannot bear the idea of my partner sleeping with anybody else.
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catty comments [Feb. 17th, 2011|12:52 pm]
boytropolis
This morning, my genius of a brother was having an argument with my mom about our house cat, Rusty. This naughty feline has a habit of surprising us by randomly jumping out of nowhere to grab our ankle, which will naturally result to a swift "Putangina!" and examination of the foot area, which will usually be found scratch-free.

"Pagsabihan niyo 'yang pusa niyo ah. Nangangalmot na naman."

"Hindi naman 'yan kalmot, nangangalabit lang."

After which he went off to launch a tirade of brilliant arguments.

"Nangangalabit eh kalmot 'yun. 'Pag ako ba kinalmot niyan dadalhin niya ko sa ospital? Papaturukan ba niya ko ng anti-rabies? Siya ba ang magsi-sick leave? Siya ba ang kikita ng pera ko?"

I wanted to get out of the shower and say "Oo naman kasi pareho kayong hayop" or "Siguro 'pag nakatapos na si Rusty ng engineering" but I figured soaping my ass was more important.
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click to disconnect [Feb. 13th, 2011|02:34 am]
boytropolis

SPOILER ALERT: In the last scene of The Social Network, we see Mark Zuckerbeg adding his ex-girlfriend as a friend to his Facebook profile, after which he relentlessly refreshes the screen to check if his ex is online and the invitation has come through. He clicks, and clicks, and clicks, and clicks. We never know if the ex added him, but that's beside the point. The more interesting part is that he is not alone in this action. A few of us—or maybe a lot us; I have no way of knowing—are also guilty of this. Add someone, refresh. Check newsfeed, scan status updates, add comments, refresh. Check your own profile, refresh. It's as if the speed of information afforded by the digital age is not fast enough and we have to take matters into our own hands.

The same goes with microblogging. You either make an account to actively update with the most random of thoughts, or you only sign up to read tweets from Kris Aquino or the MMDA, which can both independently indicate the kind of person that you are. You choose a background picture, upload your prettiest headshot, make lists, get spam tweets from strange people, type fleeting rants about your day, so on and so forth. But most of all, you refresh. Depending on your browser, Twitter auto-refreshes the homepage with tweets hot off the grill, assuring a constant supply of 140-charactered gossipfodder. (And then there's TwitLonger, a self-defeating tool for those who do not believe in brevity.)

For the professional who believes in the value of networking there is LinkedIn, which is just Facebook dressed in a business suit. For the unsigned bands, Myspace. For the jejemons and for those who live in the past, Friendster. For those who like to argue, YouTube because apparently, everyone has an opinion these days. Just look at the comments.

We are living in the future. It's inevitable, omnipresent and absolutely futile to resist. But slipping into my Carrie Bradshaw I'm-a-writer-therefore-I-wonder mode, I wonder: Is social media guilty of our dependence for validation? When presented with multiple avenues for instant communication, why do we suddenly feel the urge to connect? Is the offline world too boring, too sad, too slow for our hungry consciousness?

Look back at the chart. Only five percent of us require social media to earn a living. The remaining ninety-five percent has no business getting buried in a digital avalanche. The call for interaction is a devil on our shoulders, even if what we really need is a refresh button for our own lives.

Think about it; don't just tweet about it.

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you know what [Feb. 10th, 2011|02:01 pm]
boytropolis
[Current Mood |: )]
[Current Music |chris medina - break even]

I'm just happy that when the universe decides that I should die right now, I can honestly say that I've lived a full life, that I've made the most of what I got, that I know love, that I know how to love, that I have been loved, that I have a great sense of humor, and that no matter how impossible it may seem, I can see the bright side of anything and everything.

Turns out, aside from the gift of writing and the possibility of New York, 'yun lang naman pala ang gusto ko sa buhay.
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an open letter to anyone who cares [Feb. 10th, 2011|02:41 am]
boytropolis

Dear relatives in New York,

Hi. It's me, Barny. Your cousin and/or nephew. There's something very important that I need to discuss with you.

About two months from now, Tina Fey will be having a book tour for her humor book called Bossypants. She will kick off in New York on April 8 at the Union Square Barnes & Noble, wherever the hell that is. Notice how I will generously lace this letter with hyperlinks to prove I'm not making this shit up.

You might not know it, but I've been a huge fan of Tina Fey since 2004. That year, on my 19th birthday, I ate tempura for lunch, watched Mean Girls then had frappuccino with a friend while quoting our favorite lines from the movie. I have pretended to be Regina George ever since. (As for my frappuccino friend, Cady Heron, we have since parted ways as he hangs out with the cool geeks.)

Back then my taste in comedy was more visual than intellectual, so I chose MADtv over SNL. As former SNL head writer, I didn't encounter first-hand how Tina Fey challenged the thinking man's idea of what's funny. Sure, you got the usual penis jokes and PMS commercial parodies, but she (or so I've heard) maneuvered the show in such a way that anyone who isn't abreast with the news or specialized knowledge will certainly get lost.

After eight years she left and created 30 Rock, which sometimes required obscure information to get the jokes. It was unpredictable, smartly written and well-crafted. It was also insanely stupid. But most of all, it required a brain. I fucking loved it.

This writer, Tina Fey, she made me believe that comedy need not be shallow or spiteful to be appreciated, that I don't need to act like an idiot or a bully to make people laugh. Well, not all the time anyway.

This is the part where I answer your thoughts i.e. "Stop talking and just fucking tell us what this letter is about!"

I want you to please please please buy me a copy of Bossypants and have it signed by Tina Fey. It will happen on April 8 at the Union Square Barnes & Noble. I am willing to pay for all expenses. I just need the signature and, tee hee, maybe a short message addressed to me?

To quote Erin Brockovich: "Don't make me beg." Because I will do it.

Lastly, if there's a slim chance that you don't know her, try googling "Sarah Palin impersonation" and click the one that isn't porn.

I love you guys please send me a signed book,

Barny

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never thought i'd say this but... [Jan. 21st, 2011|05:47 pm]
boytropolis
I really want to fall in love this year.
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radio heads [Jan. 21st, 2011|02:43 am]
boytropolis

Ideal guy #1, split into two, composited into three, ready for a foursome with me.

(From Coke Talk)

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a.k.a. why i am chismoso [Jan. 12th, 2011|09:21 pm]
boytropolis

On creating characters and writing dialogue:

"As I come from a theatre background, I always do build up a detailed picture of a character - I ask myself: what's their favourite colour, where did they go to school, who was their mother and so on. I always listen to people as I walk around. A young writer must listen, that's for sure. You have to have an interest in people; you have to have interest in humanity to be a writer - it goes without saying."
Shane Connaughton

"The key to character is desire. Ask yourself: What does my character want consciously and unconsciously? When you have a complex character, and you can answer those two questions clearly, suddenly your ability to create your character takes a huge leap forward. Remember that dialogue is the last step in the process of writing a screenplay, it's the frosting on the cake, because how do you know what a character is going to say until you know what that character is doing? And how do you know what the character is doing until you know what the character wants? So write your screenplay from the inside out, not the outside in."
Robert McKee


 (Quote from the BBC. Artwork by Cynthia Bauzon-Arre)

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gunpoint [Jan. 6th, 2011|09:13 am]
boytropolis

I will blow your brains off with this plastic sticky gun thing while Ornusa Cadness and I show you variations of the Bieber hair. Bang, bitch.

Posted via email from This Boy

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i wish i was Mark Salling's Boracay ladyboy [Jan. 5th, 2011|12:36 am]
boytropolis

E0w fw0h...

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tag him on Facebook then throw him to jail [Jan. 3rd, 2011|10:02 pm]
boytropolis

Well this is awkward. Just last New Year's Eve, an assassin was accidentally shot on camera by his victim, leading to his swift identification and capture. This is like some freakish modern version of the Wild Wild West. Condolences to the bereaved; may this gunman burn in the smelliest pits of Satan's underarms.

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