As you all know, I’m a pretty big Harry Potter fan. Shut up. Anyway, Harry Potter is probably the only fandom right now that has more vicious fanatics than Twilight, because I never see Twilight movie tickets being presold a week before the showing.

But anyway, my point is that Harry Potter is opening today, dammit. And I haven’t bought any tickets yet. And I am not willing to wait for an hour for tickets just to sit in a cramped cinema, with some kid with a bad cold sitting beside me, trying to remind me of his existence (and the snot that’s flowing down his nose) every time he inhales.

And when the most exciting part of the movie comes, the kid will get bored, wail to his parents that he wants to pee/go home/eat a burger/my foot in his face/whack off. And when one kid wails, this sets off a chain reaction. I don’t know how they do that. One kid cries, and the next thing you know, you’re in the middle of a cacophony of ear-bleeding shrieks. Fucking kids.

But really, I do not want to miss Harry Potter 6. I mean, as much as I’m a big fan, I want to watch it in IMAX as well, so I can get to see Emma Watson’s boobs in 3-D. What.

Of course, I’m a good citizen and I won’t go to your friendly neighborhood prated DVD shops just to get a shaky cam capture of the movie. Heck, if I wanted to replicate the movie experience, I might as well brave the long lines and the hyperactive kids. No, I shall not break the law buy buying a pirated DVD. Okay, that sexual harassment thing’s another story, but whatev.

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So last Sunday I went to SM Megamall for this event where a bunch of bloggers sit together, bring out their laptops, PSPs, iPhones, iPod touches, and any other wifi devices, and basically surf. You know to just go around the net and do the stuff that we usually do in your office or homes. Except us bloggers were in the center of the mall where we stress-test the newly-installed wifi to make sure it’s up to speed. Heh. That was a private joke there for all the bloggers who went to the event. You have to do a speedtest to get the punchline, you see, because- meh, nevermind.

My little Eee PC, chillin’ like a villain

Aaaaanyway, so I arrived pretty late. The testing area was already packed by then. I ran into Marocharim, Sha, Karla, Bong, Josh, Lizz, Jonel and a lot of other bloggers whose names escape me at the moment. (So guys, please, if we were in the same table and/or ran into each other, just leave a comment and I’ll add you to the list.)

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Dear dude who was fingering his girlfriend on the MRT,

First off, I applaud you. It takes much effort to doodle the noodle in public. Really. I mean, with all the people around seeing you excavate the Tunnel of Love, it takes guts. You’ve got balls of steel to solder on while people turn away in disgust.

You see, I was beside you today while waiting for the train. You, me, your girlfriend, and a huge crowd. I kinda knew you were double-clicking her mouse because she was squirming all over the damn place. Hiding her crotch with her big-ass bag was a nice touch, though. It really made the scene more obvious, but still, nice touch.

No, I wasn’t talking about your touch. Ass.

So finally, the train entered the station (hyuk, hyuk, I made a funneh) and I tried to get away as far from you two as possible. Goddammit, why the hell did you two decide to get a seat in front of me where I can see you two flip the light switch repeatedly? And OF COURSE you had to stop digging in so you two can put on shades. Yeah, like that’ll hide your identity. Very subtle, really.

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MOSCOW – Apparently, them Russians have had enough of their kids dressing weirdly. Fed up with their children’s black-dressing and bad hair ways, the Russian government is passing a law that will effectively ban emo hairstyles and emo dress styles in schools and government buildings.

A behind-the-scenes look at the legislative process.

The laws are being crafted to curb dangerous self-destructive activities associated with emo.

The Guardian describes emos as “12-16 year-olds with black and pink clothing, studded belts, painted fingernails, ear and eyebrow piercings, and black hair with fringes that ‘cover half the face’. Emo culture’s ‘negative ideology’ may encourage depression, social withdrawal and even suicide, the bill alleges – with young girls being particularly vulnerable.”

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That swine flu thing has finally reached our shores, and the number of infected people are escalating. So, what’s most logical thing to do? Panic. Yes, that’s what we’re doing now.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not downplaying the effects of swine flu. It’s dangerous and all, but seeing people around me panic is just not doing anyone good. Because I tend to freak out too; and whenever I freak out I curl into a fetal position and suck my thumb. Want to know how jumpy people are? Everytime somebody coughs in the elevator, I could literally see everyone’s head turning towards the poor guy, with MURDER written on their faces. I’m pretty sure if somebody initiated a punch, everyone would be involved within five seconds. The poor sap won’t reach the ground floor alive.

There’s a palpable tension in the air that was never there before. Everyone’s so uneasy, similar to the feeling of watching another Hayden Kho sex scandal video, but instead of Katrina Halili, he’s boning Dionisia Pacquiao this time.

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So Baddie wrote this pretty awesome blog entry about a hundred songs to save your life. Also, The Jew tagged me.

Now these are the songs I want to raise my future children (henceforth known as Genetic Experiments numbers 1-16) with. Now, people, don’t you judge me if you find something you don’t like in this list, lest I’ll dig up that Ricky Martin album you’ve hidden somewhere.

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Every weekend, my bandmates and I meet up in one of those coffee shops scattered in the metro. Aside from playing Gino Padilla’s “Closer You And I” ad nauseam, we also try to write songs.

My bandmates, in my opinion, are badass songwriters. They can take one mundane situation like “I was about to cross the road when this jeepney stops in front of me and wouldn’t let me pass; the driver parked there for a good two minutes, blocking my way, until he realized that I wasn’t going to ride his stupid jeepney” into a pretty tight song:

So after a week of (unsuccessfully) avoiding spoilers, I finally decided to finally go and watch the latest Star Trek movie. So the girlfriend was unavailable and I had nobody else to watch it with, which is why I went to the cinema alone. I tell you, it can get pretty awkward. I went, all alone, to a movie which is notorious to have a massive fanbase composed of reputed virgins.

“Hi, I’m here to talk to you about my penis.”

Also, have I ever mentioned that crowds scare the shit out of me? Yeah, I hate it when crowds become all crowd-like and become composed of lots of people. I get uneasy and and shiver and cringe. Ok, not really, but I still hate crowds. So to prevent people from thinking that I’m some loser who goes off reading Star Trek wikis in between the Picard/Kirk erotic fanfic, I decided to act nonchalant.

In fact, if somebody was to talk to me about how awesome the film was, I was planning to answer “You mean this is a space adventure film? I thought it was going to be filled with weird human-alien tentacle sex! Just the way me and my… harem of hot girls like it!”

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So guys, this is one of those rare moments when I decide to spare you my unfunniness and I let you guys write my blog entry for me. So I’m going to post here a random picture which I have no idea what to do about, and I’ll let you guys make up captions for this.

Actually, I’m just suffering from a bad case of writer’s block, and I haven’t seen Star Trek yet, and I’m just as excited about it as that Klingon-speaking pimply-faced overweight virgin who lives down the street.

So here’s the pic:

Again, the winner will get a million points, Health +65, LVL +2,and Spock’s katra.

So, post your captions here and I’ll get back to you after I watch Star Trek, yo.

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This is a question nobody takes seriously: are your neighbors zombies? For all you know, you could be in the middle of a party, drinking your 7th beer while people are getting crazy on the karaoke, then you pass out. Five hours later, you wake up with your brains missing. Dang! One of your neighbors are zombies, and you don’t know who it is! See why you need to know who the humans and who the zombies are before it’s too late?

Check out these warning signs so you can differentiate between the living and the undead. The last thing we want is an unexpected brain salad. Your brains.

If your neighbors tend to walk around the neighborhood muttering “Brains” under their breath, they might be zombies.

You might think the thin guy next door is just taking his nightly leisure walk like he always does (midnight on the dot), but he’s just hunting for flesh to eat. Have you seen Mrs. Wilson’s dog after that one time thin guy took it on a midnight stroll? Thought so!

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So, tomorrow would be the much-anticipated boxing event, the bout between Manny Pacquiao and Ricky Hatton. The fight is also named “The Battle of East and West,” and is therefore considered to have the worst name in the history of boxing, you know?

Also, they totally got the name of the fight wrong here.

I’m pretty sure the streets will again be practically abandoned and crime rates will fall to zero as people will crowd in front of their television sets and root for Pacquiao by screaming “SIGE MANNY SUNTUKIN MO PA! PAKSHET GALENG MO MANNY, PATAYIN MO NA PUTANG INA YAN SIGA SUNTOK PA TANGINANG YAN!” and after he wins, 90% of Filipinos would engage in some weird mass orgasm, run through the streets in ecstasy and celebrate the triumph and perseverance of the Filipino Spirit.

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Today, I’m 26. I’m seriously beginning to dread this one number added to my age every year, and for good reason. I’m now entering this stage in life that people lovingly refer to as “late 20’s.” I hate that. It’s like I should look at these other 20 year-olds and be this guy who’s pensive and shit and guide everyone through this hazardous wasteland called “the 20’s.” No, seriously. I can imagine myself smoking a pipe as I dispense advice to confused twenty-somethings about life, love, taxes, and the dangers of smoking.

But here’s the kicker: I am in no position to give advice to anybody. I should be happy, successful, and all that shit by this time, but as you can see, I log on to my interweblog thing every week to post dick jokes, which you people devour with such ferocity I sometimes wonder if anyone of you guys will devour my actual, physical dick with the same fervor. (to be perfectly clear, I was talking to my female readers. The hot ones who’d willingly get into bed with me without the aid of date rape drugs.)

Bah. This isn’t really the easiest thing to deal with, if you ask me. You know the feeling when you wake up, you realize that you’ve fucked up majorly and there’s probably no way to fix your life? Yeaaah, that’s the feeling I get every morning. Really not the happiest thing, if you ask me.

The strange thing about adulthood is that it’s when all these real-world problems come crashing on you. And in most cases, you’re not ready to deal with them, and nobody’s there to bail you out. It’s so fucking overrated. I oughta find the guy who told me that adulthood is probably the most awesome thing that’ll happen to me, second only to growing pubic hair (that also didn’t turn out too well, by the way).

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This has been one of the hottest summers ever. Who here hasn’t been complaining how humid and unbearable the weather is lately?

Case in point: last week, while walking to work, I smelled something burning while I was in the middle of Ortigas. Also, I felt something at my feet. I figured out that the soles of my shoes have melted, and I’m in trouble. But I just actually just stepped on a big steaming pile of doggy shit. But that isn’t the point.

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Jing Abalos as Batman? Dante Rivero as Dracula? I'd watch this. Move over, Joey De Leon.

(Thanks to Steel for showing this to me)

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Since the beginning of this advice column dedicated to helping out those who are helplessly unable to find happiness, we have come to realize that we at Down The Highway have neglected a significant portion of our readership: the zombies.

Last Thursday, one avid zombie reader visited the DtH offices. Since his brains were already hanging out of his nose, we panicked. Shotguns, crucifixes and wooden stakes were produced and used on our hapless visitor. After a failed attempt to kill him (and losing two of our interns in the process), it was clear that it was just an unfortunate misunderstanding: he just wanted to pour his heart out over a lost love.

“You see, there was this girl, and she dumped me for a sparkly vampire…”

We learned an important lesson: zombies may look different, they may smell like five year-old rotting flesh, and yes they are indeed rotting (because you know, they’re kind of dead), but they have feelings like you and me. The next time you see a zombie, don’t run away; he may be after your brains, but chances are he’s after your heart as well. Don’t be racist. In fact, we’ll soon hire a zombie staffer (in the spirit of zombie-human solidarity) once we figure out how to keep him from attacking people during office hours.

And now we’re going to publish some of the zombie letters that we received over the years.

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I dont get it. Why sila super bilib na bilib kay Sarah Geronimo? Eh hinde naman sya marunong kumanta LOL.

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Where do I start?

When I walked into the mall to watch Knowing, I saw a poster that had text written on 3/4 of it, vaguely trying to explain the movie’s plot. Wait. Why do you need to explain the movie’s plot on a poster with a paragraph? That was red flag #1.

Then, I saw this, in big letters: “From Summit, the makers of Twilight.” That does not bode well.

On paper, I thought it was an awesome concept: a bunch of numbers, buried in the ground via a time capsule, predicts various catastrophes. The numbers are so accurate that it tells you the the date, number of deaths, and exact location of the said catastrophes.

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Well, I guess he has no other way to get out of it.

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So, a few months after the last facelift, Facebook once again changed their layout. And, frankly, people aren’t too happy with the change. So goes another round of interweb bitching about Facebook’s new layout, even if the site is for free and they can do whatever they want with how the site looks. Heck, they can even put a big slab of bacon on the site and they should be able to get away with it.

This is how Facebook should look like, forever.

As I’ve been following the updates of people trying to deal with the new layout, (yes, “deal.” It’s life-changing, didn’t you know?) I’ve noticed a pattern. People go through stages when trying to deal with this major tragedy called “Facebook changed its layout, holy shit, my life is over.”

Denial

One day, you log on to Facebook, and the layout has changed. it’s no longer the familliar layout you were used to from yesterday. You stare at the screen in shock. You press F5 continuously, hoping that the old layout will go back after a while. You refuse to accept the change.

Anger

There has got to be somebody to blame. You are seething with anger. You need somebody to hit. You may rail against fate, questioning “Why me?”

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