The Funtasian

As I counted down the days of my return home to the states, my parents got increasingly irritated with me. Of course I was just as annoying and relentless back then as am I now. Probably more now. Definitely more now. I pounced my dad every morning with the magic number til we left. That was so much fun. He would get so mad, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go home so badly.

Every night I told myself this was one less day that I had to spend chasing chickens who were "toys" during the day and dung oven sacrifices at night. I would leave behind the pet turkeys on leashes and the dogs with no names. yuckkkk! The toothless candy lady in the woods would probably go broke without my daily runs to her jungle bunk house. My uncles would have to go back to torturing each other instead of me since I would no longer be there. The mosquito net that strangled me every night in the cage I slept in would be no more. I wouldn't be caked in pig shit mud to hide from mosquitos and my relatives. The lizards, snakes and godzilla size cucaraches would not be running, slithering or crawling up my legs. I wouldn't have to worry about getting thrown in the river by a random Fama. You know who you are...

Going to church with my Lola everyday would be halted for ETERNITY. I mentioned in earlier blogs that I would only enter church if she bought me popcorn. I did enjoy chewing my popcorn rather loudly and for that I got wacked but thinking back, it was worth it. It wasn't that my Grandmother didn't love me. She just didn't know what to do with me. I guess beat me into submission with that damn broom would work for her. I wasn't afraid. My uncles should have never taught me that word....putanginamo....ooooh I said it again. How was I supposed to know I was either saying you are a son of a bitch or your mother is a slut whore. ooops. Real nice guys. Real nice. I love you Grandma broom and all, but your kids are freakin loco.

I wouldn't have to yell "WHAT??" 5000 times because I couldnt understand anybody or repeat myself constantly because they couldnt understand me either. I wouldn't shit my pants purple from eating ice cream I was lactose intolerant to. I was definitely NOT going to see another dead body for awhile or at least one that wasn't embalmed. Dudes, we got a stinker

My sweet uncles and cousins told me I was never going home. Jackasses. They said only my brother Ben was going to be allowed. The little Prince will pay. They told me I had to stay and climb coconut & banana trees for them. They even handed me a machete to wield around. Yes, I was five and I had a machete. They are so lucky I didn't feed Ben to the momma pig for saying that. Im pretty sure I wanted to at that point.

Another item on the list I would hope to never witness again in America...You know when they say, there are starving people in Africa, eat your food? Well apparently there are starving people in the Philippines. Want not, waste not was big in this family. Nothing was left to spare or left uneaten. NOTHING. I often heard this sound petewww petewww petewww. The sound of spitting. I never really paid much attention to it til I found out what they were shooting passed me with their forked tongues. Now, I myself have never eaten a chicken foot and never will, but my mom and her family LOVES that wrinkly old cocks nasty ass foot. After you have chewed the meat off its pod, what do you have left in your mouth?  Little chicken toe nails. Petew, petew, petew....ewwwwww.

My nightmare would be over soon or so I thought...

See you next time on "Inside the Flip Side" and find out why I have a fourth hole

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I love seeing your comments so feel free to leave them under the blog post or on my fan page. Thanks for always coming back. The support is a wonderful thing. It almost melts my little icy heart. Almost...

 

 

There's another podcast I listen to hosted by Anthony DiDomenico & Bill Morales. You can listen at www.fnfunny.wordpress.com

I have seen Anthonys stand up and he is very good so when you see me share his schedule on facebook. Go have a look see. He also has a website www.anthonydidomenico.webs.com and you can follow him on twitter @comicanthonyd. Follow Bill on twitter @BAMicle

They have a facebook Fan Page so click the link and like them. They will put pics of big cans if you do.  www.facebook.com/organizedchaosradio.com

Follow them on twitter @ocradiogaga. The'yre not getting a lot tweets so follow and tweet them about the lack of big cans on their fan page.

They are also on itunes and not because of Anthonys computer skills. Bill is wayyy smarter than Anthony.  At the time that this podcast aired Anthony was promoting a Movie by the very talented James Britt called "The Creature from the Blecch Lagoon",  Rendevous with Comedy 50's style. It was at Governers on October 24th. Anthony had a non speaking part in the movie and he was terrific saying nothing and stuffing his face. You make GREAT face Ant.

Anthony likes promoting people and his Eskimo Brother is in a band called "Face The King". You can find them at www.facethekingband.com. They have a new single called, "You, Me & the Sound on their website. Vic, I know you are reading this, so blog about this band for me k? Thanks dude. ;) Anthony is nominated in the Long Island Press for Best Long Island Comic. Vote here - http://vote.longislandpress.com/engine/YourSubmission.aspx?contestid=71109. There are better but don't vote for them, only vote for Anthony.

Oooh Oooh they got an email question from the fabulous Jeannie Powers. Wink - Find out their stance on taxable lap dances in New York. Also visit Jeannie's hilarious blog at www.funtasian.com. You are here. Like her fan page at www.facebook.com/thefuntasian and follow her on twitter @u3powers. Now please...

Bill also had a question asked of him a long time ago..."If you could clone yourself, would you have sex with yourself and if you did would it make you gay or would it be considered masturbation? Anthony will NOT have sex with his clone, let alone a guy. Listen to find out what he thinks about jerking off his perverted clone. Eyes wide SHUT.

Anthony just had his one year annivesary with Weight Watchers, down a whopping 109lbs. Ain't that just the shit! He thanks his brother Mike for the after school special intervention involving a whiffle ball bat. I can't stop singing Paul Revere.

If there are any bands who want their songs played on their show, email or facebook them with pics and bios to read. They accept gold coins as payment. Bill would like canned soup.

Next monday on their podcast is comedian Chris Monty. Also nominated for best Long Island Comedian.

Even before I went to the Philippines, I was introduced to some of the worst foods on the planet. All you ever heard me say was...I am not eating that...or that...or that...

Filipino Spaghetti, Kare Kare, Diniguwan & Bagoong to name a few.  Don't worry I will define them in another blog. But I am warning you. You will wish I hadn't. 

There is no other food in the universe that I am more afraid of then the BALUT.

When I was little my mom always talked about the Balut. Be afraid. How much she loved it. Vomit. How it was the only food (if you can even call it that)  she could keep down while pregnant with me. Some things should be kept to yourself. How my dad had to chase the Balut cart down the streets of the Philippines. Where was the word NO in your vocab back then, Daddy?  How delicious it is. LIAR!!

It seems innocent enough. It's not. Sitting there in the fridge door amongst the other eggs. Traitor. You always knew though because the bright purple eggs (and it ain't Easter) were close by. I will not be fooled. 

For those of you who do not know what a "Balut" is, let me enlighten you. Gagging. It is in all intensive purposes an egg. I feel sick. A duck egg to be exact. Donald & Daisy would be appalled. An incubated duck egg. Donald & Daisy just dropped dead. Dinners ready...

Whoever came up with an incubated duck egg as a meal should be shot. I couldn't get away from these undercover eggs. My fridge in Yaphank, the egg I supposedly killed on the pig farm. That was a BALUT.  It didn't incubate long enough. I killed a yolk. Partial duck abortion? Whoops. The Uncles were anggggry. Oh no, not the broom again.

Like I mentioned, this is an incubated duck egg. Whyyyyy? It's incubated anywhere from 17-21 days depending on your palate. I can't. To the regular human, it looks like a chicken egg sitting there undercover with the rest. Dont let it fool you. This is no regular egg. You cant fry it up. Sautee only. You SUCK it up. Puking in my mouth. Better get a toothpick.

This isn't my definition. I came across this and it cracked me up...

Asian mothers are the worst of Asian parents. They are the ones, in particular, who bitch slap you if you get a B+ and force you to wear the cheap clothing they buy.

They are the ones, in particular, who ignore all your A's in your report and punish you for just one B.

It is the Asian mothers that usually buy cheap clothing for their kids, and the writing on the clothing makes no sense at all. To make things worse, they put mothballs in the closet to make the clothes smell like shit. So, you're wearing a shirt that makes no sense, and smells ridiculous.

Asian mothers are worse than Asian fathers. At least Asian fathers are laid back a little bit more and can tell properly if your report card is good or not.

 

Stay tuned for some scary food insight of my life at age five tomorrow on "Inside the FLIP Side"

Shrimp heads, purple poop, runaway piglets, Grandma wielding brooms, muddy rivers, dead people & dung are nothing compared to teaching your teenager how to drive.

I was starving for real food. Like a pancake or a chocolate chip cookie even.  Of course in the seemingly never ending torture that was my life, I was told I could have a pancake, but they would be made of meal worms. EW! How 'bout I kill your pet turkey & eat that, I know how. 

I was terrified of everything they fed me. I sniffed ALL my food very carefully.  I looked to see if it had eyes or if it squirmed. I would stare at long lengths.   Unless I saw it cooked in a frying pan myself with no weird ingredients I was not swallowing it.  I mastered chewing my food and spitting it into anything that would hold it, feeding it to the pigs later on.  For all I knew they could've been eating their own.  I could've started an epidemic...Mad Piglet Disease.

There was an ice cream man that would cross over the bridge by the river. (You know the river...where my future demise would take place) I wanted this ice cream.  How bad could it be?  Can you really screw up ice cream?  I should've known better.

I made my older cousin take me to the bridge because I knew the ice cream man would circle around ringing his little bell over and over. Im gonna get me some ice cream! <<steals more change & runs>>

Here I am thinking I am going to get some strawberry, chocolate or vanilla. NOPE. No Breyers within an 8500 miles radius.  I would have settled for Pathmarks no frills brand at this point.  The only flavor this ice cream man had was "UBE". Let me give you a little run down on what Ube is. Plain and simple it's a yam.  Not just any yam. This yam's bright purple, like Grimace from Mcdonalds.  What does it taste like? A freakin' raw potato. What kind of ice cream was I getting? Bright purple yam ice cream that tasted like a root vegetable. There were no sprinkles from this ice cream man. No cherry dipped cones either. This was clearly not Carvel.  

I had brought plenty of change so I made my cousin keep buying me more purple ice cream. It was terrible, but I was sure it wasn't cooked on a dung oven and it tasted better than beady eyed shrimp heads on a stick. When my cousin told me she was out of change, I whipped out all the change I had hidden in my pockets. HA HA HA...

Did I mention that I was Lactose Intolerant and only supposed to have goats or soy milk? Purple yam ice cream and my digestive track do not play well together and there was no stopping them. I will never forget being bellied over in pain from the stomach cramps.  Way before there were Skittles, I was already shitting a rainbow of color.  Uhhh.  It was purple and it was in my pants. 

See you next time on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;)

 

 

 

  

I often think I suffered from some form post traumatic stress syndrome after I came home from the Philippines.  I mean how else could I remember every little detail of my dreadful time there?  I have had nightmares for years that I am drowning in rice patties, eaten by carabao, strangled by snakes, squashed by the piglets mother and eaten all the pets I have ever owned.  I swear, I am NOT bitter...

My brother would never remember being in the Philippines.  I am not sure whether to feel sad for him because of all the wonderful (gag) culture he missed out on or joyous that he wasn't tortured in such a way that my life was changed forever by the experiences back home.  He never left my mothers lap in the Philippines...oh those damn shackles & springs on his legs.  They saved his ass a whoopin, although I doubt anyone would wack a little Fama prince.

I couldn't wait everyday to sneak off to the candy lady.  I would steal all the change that fell off my dresser and rolled in between the bamboo before anyone else could.  I was closest to the floor besides my brother and he never stepped foot on the ground so I got first dibs.  Plus, if I was going to get a broom whoopin everyday, I should at least get paid for it...in large amounts of sugar.  Grandma knew all my hiding spots anyway.  My cousin ratted me out.

Waking up tangled in a mosquito net every night and not being to able to go pee because I was terrified of what was lurking on the floor are what those nightmares were made of.  The gigantic cockroaches bigger than my face & creepy little lizards who ran up, down & thru the bamboo.  I am sure Godzilla, Mothra and Gamera were also close by.

The river outside my shanty had no guard rail and it was a long rocky way down.  If you fell off the edge, the giant crocs were going to eat you.  At least thats what I was told.  My Uncles threatened to throw me over the edge numerous times. The crocs had laid their eggs on a big pile of crap in the middle of the river. I tried to hit the eggs with rocks to kill the baby beasts that may or may not be having me for lunch.  I tried so many times and never hit them once.  My Uncles continued their scare tactics.  Ok fine, you full breed mofos, two can play at this game.  So, I grabbed a piglet and brought it over to the edge as leverage against my would be assasins. If I go the little piggy goes. If the little piggy goes, you starve.  MUAHAHAHA.  What a smart little half breed I was holding that piglet over the edge until...

You see your Grandmother holding two brooms and yelling your name.  Who the HELL gave her back up??

Til next time...I'll see you on the FLIP side...

Turn your volume up and try not to pee your pants like I almost did.

There wasn't much to do as far as fun during my stay in the land of rice patties & mosquitos. I was pretty much screwed during the day going to school. Til the stuck up nuns kicked my American ass to the curb. I dont remember how many days I was actually in school before I got the boot. Probably soon after I told the other half breed in the class that she was crazy for being in the Philippines when she was half American and should plan her escape to the states. I asked her "Why are you still here?  This place is disgusting!  You must get out while you still can!" I was sure she was brainwashed.  She told on me.  I should've carried the broom with me, just handed it off and bent over for my daily broom beatings.

I had never seen people use umbrellas when it wasn't raining out. My aunt who brought me to school everyday, often whipped one out and walked every where that way.  I thought she was crazy. Then again, I thought they were ALL crazy.   I refused to walk underneath.  The sky was not falling.  I wondered if everyone else thought she was crazy too because it was not raining. What did I know?

At night the men would gather by the pig sty for their night caps.  They didn't always know I was there.  I covered myself in mud so I  wouldnt get bit by the giant size skeeters and even better they couldn't see me.  I was the original Arnold Schwarzenegger from Predator except I was covered in pig shit mud hiding from my Grandmother. When the broom wielders weren't around, I would grab a chair and hang out with them. For no other reason than I was scared of what was lurking in the house full of Famas and what they would try and feed me off their dung ovens.  I should have been more frightened about what was lurking just above my head outside.

Everyone was an Uncle or a Kuya(elder boy relative).  I couldn't keep up with their names. There were too many of them and they seemed to multiply daily.  They all looked alike.  When they sat outside one always had a long stick. I thought he had a limp or something, but that wasn't what it was for. There I was caked in mud hanging with my little piglet friends when he would wack the trees. I would hear things land. Coconuts, I thought.  I really didnt know what was landing or where. I didnt really care til one landed right next to me. A BIG ASS MOTHER FUCKIN SNAKE!

I screamed and scared the drunks out of their chairs and was told NOT TO MOVE...yea ok buddy.

What five year old listens?? Not this one. I threw a sacrifice at the snake, a piglet and ran right into my Kuya who lifted me off the ground, shook me and said, "Be careful Jeannie, it rains & pours snakes here and they are poisonous!"

Rains & pours snakes?  Somebody give me a freakin umbrella...NOW!

Have you ever fought off a broom with an umbrella while you are covered in mud with a piglet in your arms?   No?   I have...teehee

See you soon on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;)

 

 

 

When I was younger, my brother Ben & I never wore shoes. I hated them. My father said we had "Rice patty feet".  I could walk on rocks, climb trees, anything and I never flinched.  Must be an Asian thing.  I couldn't tell if he was insulting me or he was just jealous that his feet were too soft.  Must be a white thing.

Ben was too young to remember our time in the Ghetto Jungle.  He couldn't run anyway because he was strapped to a board and had Forest Gump shackles on his legs.  All I did was run. Run away from the broom, run from my Uncles who tortured me daily, run to the candy lady, run to my mother begging not to leave me with her broom wielding mother.  So one day, I ran all the way to the beach.  To get to the beach though, you had to run through the rice patties.

There I was, five years old standing in a labyrinth of rice patty squares that led to a beach.  Only problem was the Water Buffalo were always in my way.  They would just stand there dropping their swirls and twirls shit on the pathways that led me to the beach.  If I wasn't hopping buffalo shit, I was crawling under the buffalo itself. How I wasn't kicked in the head, knocked into a patty to drown, or impaled by a horn is beyond me.   

My mother would tell me stories of her childhood and how she had to collect the hardened buffalo chips for the family. She told me how sometimes it didn't always look hard and she would wind up with buffalo shit all over her because it was soft and would fall apart after picking it up. My poor mother.   When my uncles found out I was running through the rice patties, they would tell me another story. How my dinner every night was going to be cooked on a buffalo dung oven.  OMFG! This is why my mother collected dung?!  I chose to starve to death from this point on.

Being five, full of imagination & a will to survive in this god forsaken land, I decided that if there was no dung to be found, there would be NO OVEN MADE OF SHIT. So I ran barefoot to the rice patties as often as I could sneaking buffalo dung back into the rice pools. I was NOT eating off a shit oven! I'd rather die, but I bet they had really good crops of rice that year...

 See you tomorrow on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;) <----------- not a winky face, that's half a chinky face!