Cureless

Although I was rather appreciative of the number of text messages I received on my phone today (because it’s my birthday), I’m still sad. Thanks to all of those who greeted me.

Warning! The following paragraphs contain F words! Be warned of explicit content.

Part I

First and foremost, I had to go back again to the hospital for the medical exam, endured another precious day worth of time, learned how hard ass Filipino fucktards can be, and had known that I have an EQ that of the lowest mammal in the planet.

I woke up real early (4:30 am) just to be in time for the laboratory exam at 7 am so that we can take our initial psychological interview at 8:30 and then proceed with the other medical tests (ECG, X-ray, etc.) awaiting us. Those fucktards at the neuro-psychiatric ward think they have the right to yell at soldier applicants thinking that we have the IQ that of the lowest mammal. Fuck them all!

I was interviewed only in the afternoon, after hours of waiting and my stomach, hurting from flatulence. While this trying-hard English-speaking maggot psychologist was talking to me, I could hear another dip shit psychologist from the adjacent cubicle talking to my fellow applicant. I heard her wondering why my fellow applicant went back from U.S.A., and decided to work here, and she was suggesting half the time they were talking to back out and return home to his family instead, learning how bad the situation of our country and the institution could get. If she doesn’t take pride in the institution she’s working at, then why is she still working there? She’s a dip shit user.

Back to this trying-hard English-speaking psychologist who yelled at one of my fellow applicants in the morning. She thinks I’m wasting my brain and talent in joining the institution as a candidate soldier. Ooops, sorry! Who does she want to join the army? Puny brained pawns she can easily yell at? Well, of course, I couldn’t tell her how disgusted I am to see her face and the way she speaks broken English. I’m supposed to be humble and subservient.

Before showing me the results of my psychological test, she told me several accounts about her children, and how important it is to plan for the future. She criticized me for not being ambitious, and told me that it’s often the “middle-minded” people who succeed. (Success = Money) Heck, like I care. I don’t buy that kind of idea. I can’t deny that I like material things. But I’m pretty much contented of what I have now. And I’m young, unattached and not planning to have a family of my own, not even later than never. I just told her I wanted to become a nun so she can stop yapping. Besides, is that what a psychologist supposed to do??? I can just imagine how these “psycho”-logists scare the boys who cannot communicate well. Damn them to the lowest level of hell.

She told me I flunked the psychological test, and she couldn’t of course, recommend me for final psychological interview. She told me how my drawing sucked because I had drawn a male anime character who’s got BIG eyes and spiky hair. I have emotional instability and I’m very sentimental, which I hold true, but which I think are insignificant in relation to the job we’re about to handle in the institution. We won’t be killing rebels in Mindanao, nor fighting NPA’s in the mountains.

Part II

My grandmother thinks she’s a messiah. How I wish I could tell her to stop inviting her relatives to visit and stay at our house, and donating our household things. She’s another fucktard. Last Sunday, she threw a party for her sick brother, invited close relatives, had her brother and his wife stay in my room later that night. I’m not complaining about them, making my room a public domain. I lent it before, some 3 weeks ago.

But I can’t believe she lent the only thermos bottle in the house! Can they not buy their own thermos bottle? OMG! It’s fucking cheap! My mom has already aided them with some monetary amount and my grandmother still wants to give away the only thermos bottle we have in the house?! Plus, the evening after the party, what did she serve for dinner? Sucking artificial balls of fish and chicken. I don’t want to tell my Dad about this, ’cause he’ll just tell me to let it pass off. He’s another loser willingly giving away our house for my mom’s relatives.