He’s not my Uncle. He’s My Brother

The atmosphere is getting groovy. The skyline meets his eye. Tracks on Soundcloud resonate against the streaks of neon lights hitting his alipudwan and tangkugo.

My uncle Pablo is just so cool I want to go to Ontario now and start smoking. He usually wears shorts of neon colors and appears to be intimidating for those who don’t know him yet. He may talk tough but he’s a nice guy. He can’t fit on any Artwork Kung Fu shirts unless otherwise provided by law but he easily fits in. Some are surprised with how he blurts out yudiputa or bilatsing-amak but I find it Pablo-patented that only him can utter those even in the most impelling manner that it still sounds sidesplitting. Disappointments and jellyfishes are not enough to to make him mad but disappointments and ‘extreme’ ‘radical’ ‘repeated’ disappointments do. It really takes a lot to get him mad but if he does then that will be it for you.

Let baked oysters and Zacapa sit on his table and he’ll never run after any kawatan or hassler in any fucking form. Just give him beer and he will be the bangka of the town. He just love eating that if I were to go out with him everyday, I would probably become very healthy. I really wished I had the time to bring him and my Aunt to some of my favorite hangouts when they went here in the Philippines. I know for a fact that we guys would definitely like going out somewhere nice, eat good food and/or fill out guts with beer. 

I’m thinking, if he’d worn a costume something like that of a dwarf and bagged the third prize, I would insofar as seems to be expected wear the Giant Slayer’s studded leather biker armor costume. Oh no, I mean the Giant’s. Not Jack’s.

It’s Big Fish time. The atmosphere is getting groovy. The skyline meets our eyes. Tracks on Soundcloud and Podomatic resonate against the streaks of neon lights hitting our alipudwan and tangkugo. He’s no stranger. He is not just my Uncle. His name is Pablo and he is my brother.

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