June 7, 2007

Warning: anger ahead

Jill and I had kind of a long day yesterday.

I went to Sofitel for the press launch of their Father's Day treats. (The pecan-covered oysters were the best.) Then we had a Father's Day shoot before making a mad dash across the city for a five-restaurant shoot.

We finished at around 11 and headed to Route 196 to hang out after our productive day.

It was a good night. Some friends had come and gone, Hannah's sets were fun, we didn't have to tie Chri to a chair to make her stay after midnight and with Jill's expert guidance, I was beginning to scale the mountain of beer appreciation.

One by one, the tables around us were abandoned and soon, the place was no longer packed. Only we, a few other people and a bunch of loud guys were left.

The bunch of loud guys, who were obviously drunk, seemed to get louder but we didn't care. We just ignored them.

I have nothing against people drinking. I have nothing against people getting drunk and stupid with their friends. I have nothing against drunk people making a fool of themselves. But if making a fool of themselves means being a total asshole and bothering my friends, I have a huge problem with that.

Chri, Jill, Monica (who owns the place) and I were all talking when one of the loud guys approached Jill. At first I thought he was her friend. But he kept muttering gibberish and Jill tried to wave him off, turning towards us again. We all continued talking, as if he wasn't standing just behind us. He didn't like being ignored, obviously, because he soon started punching the table behind us, slapping the wall just above Jill's head and then punching the table again.

At that point I was seething.

Then his friends pulled him away and he continued yelling. He continued yelling as Monica asked her people to make him leave, he continued yelling stuff we couldn't understand - about Ateneo and La Salle and respect and lesbians. He even started ranting in another language.

Soon, he was gone. And his friends had to spend time apologizing for his stupidity.

That wasn't all he did. He had spent the night bugging different people - even Hannah. And he even entered the bar kitchen. Such a shame I wasn't there, there must be a lot of knives there.

The fucker's name is OJ Mijares.

And this is his picture:


This is my message for him.

If you know the bastard, feel free to pass this on.

You got fucking lucky. Because I thought Monica didn't want a brawl in her bar. Because I wasn't sure if your friends were as stupid as you are. Because I didn't want to touch your disgusting shirt.

But seriously, if you had stayed five seconds longer, you would be in serious pain now. I have no problems with making men cry.

If you can't handle your drink, fucking drink at home. You are a disgrace to anyone who has ever nursed a bottle of beer.

OJ Mijares, you sad sad character. You are so pathetic Google doesn't even know who you are. I wonder what your surfing buddies would say if they found out what a big drunken loser you are.

You said in your stupid Friendster account (where you have a whopping fifteen friends - wow, impressive) that you "try to live being good." I'm not even going to dissect your grammar, I don't want a headache, but I didn't know being good involves harassing strangers in bars.

And you fucking prick, four women can sit at a table together and hang out in a bar without being lesbians. Ram that knowledge down your germ-infested throat.

If you think we're overreacting, ask your friends who had to apologize repeatedly for your idiocy. The politically incorrect phrase "he's retarded" was dropped many times - but I'm sorry, that's an insult to the mentally-challenged.

Go choke on your ugly Victorinox shirt, you fucking moron.

If I were you, I'd hide under your stinky ass fake Hello Kitty sheets. This isn't over, you son of a bitch.

If a beer bottle comes crashing down on your skull one of these days, you can be sure that you will find me still holding the neck of that bottle.

You made a mistake, buddy. You don't mess with my friends and expect to get away with it.