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Conquering Cavite

It's Saturday, and if it weren't for the "Baby Gaia’s Appointment", I might still be dozing. Besides, I badly need a lot of fresh air, which I supposed I would find in Cavite. Last night’s beer vapors escape from my mouth as I examine myself in the mirror. That is what I called "Special Mig-Migs Morning Beer Vapor". Each morning after spending the night in that rat-hole bar, I always realize that I hate that place. That I hate hangover and I hate myself. But that is after the fun. And so I always come back, err no --- WE always keep coming back. A little bit of guilt makes you realize you are still human. Hmmh, foolish thinking -- but makes sense.
We left Eastgate – "the nearest planet from the sun" at around 4:00 p.m. Together with the aliens from Eastgate (we are 10 or maybe 11 or 12, -- damn, it doesn’t matter I guess, we are all aliens anyway) we took the rectangle spaceship which they call on Earth as "Bus" going to the land called Cavite – the land of the unknown. The spaceship is full of Earthlings, so we have no choice but to stand during the whole trip. And so after 456.235 light years, we finally reach our destination. As I stepped out that oven-like "Bus", an idea entered my
Supercalifragilistic-espialidocious mind (hmmm, watta word…). That "bus" should be "bombed", so that it cannot torture anybody again. We are like baked potatoes when we arrived.
Why am I here again?
a. To get some fresh air.
b. To eat spaghetti.
c. To visit baby Gaia.
d. To have a couple of beer.
e. To conquer Cavite.
f. All of the above.
Do I really need to answer this -- Letter F summarizes it all.

Click this link to see picture of Baby Gaia and her alien parents

After we conquer Cavite, we go to Bicutan – the land of broken dreams, cradle of tired seafarers, the land of famous and scandalous jailbreaks. Together with Ricky Martin, Migz, Butchong and yours truly– the four alcohol-dependent, beer-deprived musketeers, we invaded Bicutan - the land of broken dreams, cradle of tired seafarers, the land of famous and scandalous jailbreaks. We spend the night there, talking nonsense, telling lies, making sad jokes and funny heartbreaking topics.
At last, I still saw the morning sun.
It’s a nice Sunday morning, hoping for new adventures – with Mr. Tide Ultra, my friendly gloves, Ms. Downy and my dirty clothes.

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