Happiness is a warm gun

 

To think the last couple of weeks you had been wanting to bomb Zamboanga.

The seven- to eight-hour brownouts a day and no one complaining. And even fags who proudly declare they support Ladlad because of discrimination speak in defense of business, a case of Stockholm syndrome, the brownouts are constant, they explain, because that’s how business had to make profits, and when you go around the shops to buy a printer or maybe just some frigging Globe Tattoo you keep on losing and you go to the shops without combing your hair, your backpack’s zipper unsewn in one place, the idiot guard will stop you at the door, No you cannot enter, we do not sell those. You get the shock of your life. You understand it is your has-been look, you know, straws of white hair, uncut nails and scrawny fingers, but when the shop says it is a computer-and-accessories shop and at the door the guard decides you look like the terrorist-thief that you are even with your glasses on and therefore you cannot take a look inside, you kind of understand how much “Jews and dogs not allowed” hurts and did hurt real Jews and real dogs and bitches. So you march in and demand to see the Human Resource department, this is fucking harassment, is there not a thing like consumer rights around here. All the clerks make out like you have not spoken, and close ranks with the guard to say, No, our manager Mr Albert Lim is out, not here, in a meeting and so on. After a long wrench, a senior staff finally apologizes, but the store manager never apologizes, never  sees you even if all of you inch to inch from second to second is on ctv, a dozen of them at you, and it happens regularly, in so many variations, and degrees of degradations if you ever so much as feel degradation and so you understand that if they can do this to you, how much more to the real goddamned terrorist by pedigree fucking Muslims?

And so how you liked to bomb establishment.