Mr. Brightside Will Catch Ms. Brighter Than Sunshine When She Falls

Posted in Daily Encounters on 11/24/2010 by montecristomorillo

November 20, Circa Unrevealed

I turned the shiny aluminum knob of the shower, allowing warm water to gush out of the spigot, striking at my skin with such soothing embrace, the pores of my body seeping the warmth that somehow repelled all the bad vibes I had within me. My hands were leaning on the cool white marble wall, letting the water slide against the contours of my body, seemingly like the rain cascading along the canal-like way created by my spine, washing away all the dirt and sweat on my back. And as I held my head up, I brushed the mist off the mirror with my palm, and saw myself staring back at me…the face of a man who was indubitably elated of the prospect of seeing the woman that bended the law of time itself, wherein she was the only being in technicolor in a black & white slow motion scene; and upon seeing that immaculate face of hers that literally left me in awe, I was but rendered motionless as my sight first gazed on her as she stood alone on that one fateful night that I wouldn’t forget — May 10th.

And I stepped outside our humble abode, looked up at the empty sky save for the orb outline of the lovely moon that was pinned on the broad black backdrop, and asked for God’s guidance throughout the night. I ambled my way along the paved ground of our compound towards the garage, taking my pace slowly, beaming with delight as I realized that in a few minutes time I would once again be able to behold her.

The clink of the car keys broke the deafening silence as I started the engine, bringing life into the machinery, commencing the rise of my edginess. I turned on the a/c button on the dashboard, sending a blast of cool air onto my face, dousing the fire of nervousness brewing inside of me. Releasing the lock, the drop-down drawer declined, revealing within the canister of my favorite scent. So I spritzed a little of the perfume on me, ejecting a fog of atomized liquid particles, enlivening my sense of smell with such intensity.

With the headlights on, I hit the gears, and proceeded on the path bound her home where I will be picking her up. It was just a short drive; short enough that I could’ve just covered the distance by mere walking. The close proximity of the places where we hold residence clearly engaged me on a wonderment as to why it was only then that I met her, despite my decades of frequency on that very spot, questioning why there wasn’t even an intervention from the cosmic god that could’ve somehow crossed our trails together years earlier.

And then I arrived, rendezvousing at the exact time —08:00 pm.

Right hand in my pocket, I snapped out my phone and directly called to inform her I was already out, answering my call approximately after four rings. Upon hearing her voice, I was like a sailor enchanted by the siren’s call, enthralled and enraptured; the emotion I bore that moment was insanely blissful, so blithe I would’ve been mistaken as a madman by the passersby.

And then she came out.

In spite of the darkness that shrouded the heavenly skies, it was as if she exuded a dazzling aura that almost blinded me, illuminating the shadowed area where she walked — the only one whom I ever called Ms. Brighter Than Sunshine.

Inside the confines of the car, I switched the stereo on just so I would feel relaxed and composed, with the music playing Bruno Mar’s “Just The Way Your Are”. And so we exchanged the usual pleasantries and such. Glancing her way, I couldn’t help myself from admiring her; hands down she really looked absolutely stunning. Knowing that I might crash the vehicle onto something if I kept staring at her, I concentrated instead on the driving. We were up for dinner, so I decided of bringing her into this fancy little restaurant, where I knew it wouldn’t be that crowded. After parking, I alighted out of it, and checked if it was still open. With luck on my side, the sign still announced that it was up for business. As a gentleman, of course, I went back and opened the door for her.  I wanted to be her lone cavalier, escorting her through every struggles and adversities, standing next to her as the knight of her life, my loyalty immeasurable and boundless.

We breezed ourselves inside the establishment with much astonishment because, coincidentally, it was completely customer free. Was it planned? Not at all! Lol! We were greeted by this tall 30ish man, dressed in a striped polo shirt and well fitted jeans, who directed us to the table adjacent to a statue of a golden Buddha. With the usual protocol among restaurants, the waiter donned on his spotless white uniform, handed the both of us with the menu which I gladly browsed, inspecting their cuisine offerings. Feeling she was having difficulty from choosing, I took the liberty of selecting our meal which was comprised of the following: pasta, grilled rib, hearty sandwiches, and two servings of your not-to-forget chocolate floats.

And words came out of my mouth like a peacefully flowing river.

The progression of our conversation was smooth and informative, apparently not your typical one-sided talk, as both parties had their fair share of information. As dinner was served, we covered a number of points while chewing silently: childhood games, parental strictness, sibling rivalry, work related stuff, colleague profile, sports preference, theme park rides, movies that later segued onto robert pattinson & daniel radcliffe’s unusual resemblance, excessive metabolic activity, dislike for vegetables, and a hodgepodge of others. The dialogue was a like ping-pong game, trading blows of data about personal queries, answering in repartees.

Elbow rested on the table, I deposited my shaved chin on my hand, and listened intently on her discourse. My brown eyes were stuck on her, marveling at her silky porcelain skin, appreciating her jet black hair that outshone the brightness of lights that hung on the ceiling, watching the very movements of her candy lips while she talked. Truth be told, it wasn’t solely the law of physical attraction that got me hooked, but her visage of transparency, a personification void of pretensions and false façade, asserting my belief that she doesn’t hold even a speck arrogance and scorn.

During the course of our chat, there were countless occasions where she flashed that sparkling smile of hers, leaving me nothing but petrified as it was imbued with genuineness. Her truthful grin expelled the fright residing within me, engendering me to feel at ease amidst her companionship, as I was with someone I knew was real…what I saw was what a got.

Realizing that the store was about to close, I called for the bill and paid, signaling the impending end of our times together. And so I drove her home, taking a halt in front of their gate. Instead of sulking because of the fact that we were to part ways, I constructed and gave her my fruitiest smile ever, offered my appreciation for going out with me, handed her my favorite sweets, and then bade her goodbye. But I didn’t leave immediately, for I wanted to see her back vanish behind the closing door.

Since my musings weren’t over yet, I ended up in a decision of going forth the shores, where I will resume my ponderings, the very location where I first romanticized on a midnight swim. I took off my sneakers, sat on the sand with my arms on my knees, and reclined my back on the aroma tree’s trunk. Celebrating the unforgettable night with Poseidon, I pulled out a pack of Ferrero Rocher and a carton of Chuckie, then played “Jump Then Fall” endlessly.

And the music went like this:

‘Coz everytime you smile, I smile
And everytime you shine, I’ll shine for you
Whoa oh I am feeling you baby,
Don’t be afraid to jump then fall,
Jump then fall into me.

Transported on the comforting cuddle of my bed, I fixated my vision on the infinite universe outside my window, and said these very words: “fear not of entrusting your heart to me, for i will catch you when you fall”.

And then I dozed off to sleep smiling, with my saliva drooling onto my delicately soft pillow, stoked of seeing her again…




Romanticizing On A Midnight Swim

Posted in Daily Encounters on 11/09/2010 by montecristomorillo

The silhouette of the aroma tree was visibly seen from afar as I groped my way toward the seaside, cautious of making any contact with boughs armed with thorns. The sand felt rough yet cool on the soles of my feet, my naked back feeling the raw coolness offered by the frolicsome breeze, rustling some of the leaves that clung on the branches. Upon reaching the platform of the dike, I deposited my backpack on the ground, and ended up admiring the vastness of the sea and the power that it possessed. My eyes surveyed the area and finally settled on six human beings (Macoy, Mico, Daryl, Ysrael, Tiff, and Evelyn) already afloat on the salty waters, engaged on various discussions, enjoying the company of each other.

My body was still warm from the-just-wrapped booze drinking session, which happened to be a natal celebration of one of my best comrades; the alcohol still lingering within my system, relieving me from the stressful life that I trudge on a daily basis. I descended the stairs slowly, careful of not committing any misstep that might incite an injury, afraid that I might slip and end up in a hospital with fractured bones. I dipped my left foot first, testing the waters, analyzing whether I could endure the coldness it provided. Seeing that it was tolerable, I completely submerged myself and joined my buddies, enveloping myself from the hubbub of noises from their conversation. The laughter and smiles plastered on their faces were enough to melt the worries I had in mind during that time, setting my mood into complete relaxation mode, so thankful I had such spectacular acquaintances.

We related stories about Undin, a slimy green monster of the deep that looked like an abomination of Kermit The Frog with tangled sticky hair and webbed hands and feet — gross! Sharks, of course, were surely not to be missed. I was hopeful that Daryl might be bitten to death by this kind of marine life form, with razor sharp teeth that would tear his flesh, creating a fountain of blood oozing upward, prompting us to perform a standing ovation for a job well done. That scene would definitely avenge me from his cruel intentions, giving justice as well to those who had been victimized by his signature annoying stare, which only he could do by the way. Anyways, it would also serve as a retribution for his abrupt relocation/transfer to another part of the archipelago, which would likely cause great sadness and grief amongst our fellowship. Hmpf ! Macoy, on the other hand, narrated a situation with a storyline like this (I hope my account is accurate: On a guy’s perspective): the cruise ship you were in ended up sinking, yet you and seven other gorgeous girls survived from the catastrophic turn of event, and all of you were pushed ashore on a deserted island. It would have been a fantasy granted! But to your disappointment, the ladies saw another survivor, who was none other than Ding Dong Dantes. Drat & Crap! Dream crashed! Lol!

The swimming continued on, moving about our way back and forth, letting ourselves be directed by the force of the current. We waded our way, as it wasn’t that deep; waving our hands underwater, we noticed something brilliant to witness; our gestures triggered a sporadic appearance of tiny lights, looking rather like fireflies swarming. It was breathtaking!

Upon staring at the heavenly firmament, the wide black sky was littered with millions of glimmering stars, the moon hiding behind a mass of scudding clouds, mystifying our eyes with its marvel and romance. And then my keen sight caught it with such visibility, a falling star…

Closing my eyes, I marshaled all the positive vibes and made a wish.

I wished that she was with me on that very place, our hands clasped against each other, her sweet smelling hair brushing against my face, our bodies sharing the warmth, hoping that it would last forever. I wished that we would end up in each others’ arms and embrace. I wished that she was thinking of me, just as I was thinking of her while I make that hopeful wish. Opening my eyes, I saw the streak of light vanish into thin air, optimistic that GOD was listening and considering my wish…

My heart beat faster, ensued by a silence of the soul, caressing all thoughts about her. Her image floating around me, reminding me of her captivating smile that rendered me motionless the first time I saw her. Her smile, compared to the moonlight, was incomparable; for hers was “brighter than sunshine”…

Engrossed on the lovely view the firmament presented, I branded that moment: “The Most Romantic Midnight Swim”.

Wrong Rules Of Engagement: Hostage Bloodbath!

Posted in Daily Encounters on 08/25/2010 by montecristomorillo

August 23, 2010

I was wearing my eyeglasses while browsing the web, trying to protect the quality of my precious eyesight from deteriorating, searching for purchasable tomes in powerbooks online store. My shirt was sticking on my back, with streams of sweat emerging out of the pores of my skin, having just arrived from the gym hoping that my physique would still gain some mass. Yes, there had been a slight improvement; a small lump had seemingly appeared on my biceps, the effect of a humongous mosquito bite. A glass of warm milk and sandwich with layers of ham, egg, cheese, cucumber, and lettuce squeezed in between two oven, fresh baked wheat bread were placed right beside the laptop, enticing me to gorge on it, thereby enabling me to replenish the calories I was able to burn while pumping a tremendous amount of iron (Yes, I seem to be humble here). =)

While facing the overly bright LCD screen, I opened up my twitter account, looking whether what was on trend during those times as well as the tweets of those I was following; avoiding Justin Bieber’s account, though. And there it was, a flood of people’s twitterings concerning a hostage drama scene taking place at the Quirino Grand Stand, the very place where Benigno Aquino III took his oath as the newly elected President of the Philippine Republic. Curious of the event, I hurriedly scoured for the remote control, and turned on the television. Coincidentally the news was running on CNN, showing an image of a tourist bus with smoke rising out of the rear end of the vehicle, bullets holes visibly seen on various parts, shattered windows with its broken shards lying on the ground. There was a pool of heavily armed group, whom I assumed was the SWAT team, bobbing their way through the perimeter of the bus, looking like frightened geishas running away from an enraged samurai. As always, there was a mass of people trying to suck in every information they could grab, a typical Filipino trait…chismoso at chismosa! Due to their insistence of staying in the area, one of the civilians got injured, suffering from a stray bullet. That served you well! =)

The Philippines was once again on the world stage! Maria Ressa, a former CNN correspondent, and now Chief of the ABS CBN news team was covering the event, feeding me with the info of how the crime scene developed. The man of the hour, Police Senior Inspector Rolando Mendoza, clad in military fatigues and armed with an M- 16, hitched a ride on a tourist bus on its way to the Manila Ocean Park, which was supposed to be the last stop of the Chinese Nationals’ itinerary. It was, after all, the start of their demise.

Rolando Mendoza, a bemedalled policeman, together with four other policemen, were accused of extorting money from a chef whom they accosted allegedly for parking violations and possession of illegal drugs. He was stripped off his duty but was reinstated after serving his suspension. But after that, the PNP leadership ordered that he be dismissed, resulting to the forfeiture of his retirement benefits. That was probably the reason that prompted him to be noticed, to seek redemption from an accusation he defiantly would like to prove wrong, convincing himself that taking hostages was the only way to capture the attention of the media, allowing the government to hear his plea — a bold but foolish cause.

The authorities were sluggish with their actions, unnoted that prolonging the time would mean disastrous for the hostages. As part of the rules of engagement: as much as possible, provide the hostage taker of his demands and never ever anger him/her. Being a tourist bus, it was equipped with a television onboard, clearly informing the hostage taker of what was happening outside of his territory. He probably witnessed the account when his brother was abducted, igniting the fury within in, driving him mad and ending up in the decision of him killing some of the hostages. A margin of error in that kind of situation could spell death.  Lives could be lost with that one mistake. A media blackout should’ve been practiced. Surely, Rolando was aware of how the troops were moving due to the fact that he was seeing everything in the news. Dammit!

After a few hours, there ensued a series of exchange in gun fires. Everyone was clueless as to the condition of the hostages, were they still alive or were they dead already? The SWAT Team, on the other hand, should’ve come up with a stratagem that would put an end to the tragedy that could be considered as one of the worst ever in history. Unfortunately, they were still categorized as juveniles in the world of tactical combat, aimless and lacking in crisis management. Mental images were juggling within my head, I was pretty sure that the SWAT Team would be branded with different outrageous names because of this. But this unpreparedness of theirs in employing delicate procedures could be attributed to the lack of government support for training and development of the PNP.

At last! Little by little, the SWAT Team was making some pseudo-progress, inching their way inside the bus by hacking off the front doors that took ages. By that time, based on my assessment, the hostage taker was already shot off in the head (Kudos to the Sniper). Enemy down! Go Go Go! (Counter Strike) One of the members of the SWAT finally gained entrance, rescuing the hostages. Four Chinese nationals were taken off the vehicle, but the remainder of those who were left inside was definitely lifeless already. Knowing that innocent souls were taken, my heart was but turned into tiny particles, leaving me breathless for a few seconds. May their journey to the afterlife be smooth and blessed be the lives of those who were spared. There was a torrential rain that followed, obscuring the visibility of the area — people from every walk of life must’ve been mourning with the whole world. I felt akin to them, for I, too, was chinky eyed.

Just when the country was gaining a momentum in acquiring an influx of tourists, came a suspenseful circumstance that would put a halt on the arrival of foreigners in our beautiful archipelago tainted with violence. Travel bans would be a definitive consequence for The Philippines. The country would be a laughing stock in the international community. Chip Tsao would once again write awful things about us and nothing could stop him this time around. Rolando was a freaking retard, guiltless and merciless, probably having a conversation with Hades as of the moment. May the fires of Ifrit burn you! But despite that trying time, everything will come to pass, and a new day will arise.

As a parting word: The Late Jiraiya (Sannin)“there will come a time when everyone will understand each other and there will be peace in the world.”

The bread would probably be stale and the warm milk be cold. I was utterly disappointed…and tears started rolling down my cheeks, wetting the lens of my eyeglasses. Well, that would be too emoish. I consumed everything. =)


Posted in Daily Encounters on 04/14/2010 by montecristomorillo

The cheeks of my butt were glued on the toilet bowl, feeling the raw coolness and texture of the throne, which was used specifically as a site where you dump fecal matters and urinary excrements. I was reading an issue of Lonely Planet, browsing through some of the vividly captured photos on the magazine, trying to imagine if I were on those exotic locations. Anyways, I finished the dumping activity so I stood up and tried to open the faucet. To my disappointment, no water came gushing out of the stainless tube, compelling me to holler so that someone could help me out on my predicament. But no one was there. So I sat once again, on the poop pedestal, and waited for a miracle to transpire, leaving the faucet open for a while. It was dead silent inside the confine of the bathroom, which was mostly adorned with colorful and floral designs, and filled with various toiletries. The only available resort within reach was the still packed “tissue paper”.


To be continued later on…


I was confronted with this particular question: which methodology is more hygienic in cleansing the chasm in between the butt — tissue wipes or water (with soap) itself. Westerners often see this Asian custom of ours as remotely aseptic or even acceptable. This practice, which I am referring to, involves the following: a dipper, water, and soap. The process goes like this: you squat down, scoop some water using the dipper, scrub the a**hole with your left hand applied with soap or any other agent, and then generously wash it off. Westerners, on the other hand, do it in a rather quick-fix style — a simple wipe & flush. It’s just that I can just imagine the turd being smeared on the area when you use the tissue paper. Aside from that, you cannot be assured that it is entirely clean, as you would need certain elements to expunge the bacteria or germs that might thrive there. I am not saying that our method, as Asians, is the preferable one. I do understand that there are cultural differences, but water (with soap) seems to be the most effective way of removing and cleaning off harmful matters in those sensitive zones. Westerners probably use tissue paper because they see it as a convenient way — which I gladly accept without question, as I have used tissue paper itself during some pressing situations as an answer to the unavailability of bidets in water closets. You see, tissue papers come in handy when traveling…




Clearly, I was left with no other choice but to grab the aid of the tissue paper. So I reached it with my hand, unrolled a few squares of which, and tore it with alacrity. I wiped the anal region of mine repeatedly until no visible shit was seen, fearing that “klingons” might still be there. I was inside the toilet or a considerable amount of time, which was a relief upon stepping out, only to find out that water was up and running again. The heck! And I went back inside…=)

klingon (noun):  a tiny piece of shit (also referred to as a dingleberry) that hangs from your butt hair that is hard to get out.

E2= Earthquakes and Elections

Posted in Daily Encounters on 03/26/2010 by montecristomorillo

I was browsing the world wide web yesterday, searching for sites regarding diving courses and its corresponding rates, which would likely allow me to obtain a PADI (Professional Association Of Diving Instructors) license. I have always been interested in exploring the mysteries of the deep, communing with creatures subsisting in the aquatic world, and spreading the gospel of conservation among concerned citizens. While examining one particular diving school, the glass of cranberry juice beside me suddenly quivered, creating ripples inside that reminded me of Jurassic Park: the protagonists were rendered immobile by the undulations visible on a puddle, indicating the approach of the ferocious tyrannosaurus. And then it trembled…

The paintings hanging askew on our wall vibrated, the lamps held by chains while suspended in air swung from side to side, and everyone stood still for almost a minute…


Way back November 15, 1994, at around 03:15 am in the morning, our province was hit by an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.1 that jolted me awake when I fell from the double-decked bed, rewarding me with a bleeding nose. What I wasn’t aware of was that the temblor generated a tsunami that wrought significant damage on the northern shoreline communities of Mindoro, leaving 41 people dead by drowning. On the breaking of dawn, when I went outside, I was agape at the sight that I witnessed: century old trees were uprooted, the pavement was fissured, light posts were tumbled down, and other images in catastrophic proportions. It was a memory etched on our very minds…a day ought to be remembered.

After the incident yesterday, March 25, 2010, there was a flood of messages on my mobile phone, twitter, facebook, and other social networks, all concerning about the quake that transpired. According to the news, the Manila earthquake registered a magnitude of 6.1 on the Richter Scale, with its epicenter located northeast of Lubang, Occidental Mindoro. Such circumstance sent employees working inside high-rise buildings fleeing outside, nervous and frightened. Thank the Creator, it was a non-destructive one. I still fervently pray that the Philippines be spared from such tragedy…

Present Day

March 26, 2010: Campaign for the local elections starts today, evidenced by the visibility of posters plastered on legally accepted surfaces, automobiles with gigantic speakers playing promise-filled jingles, and street teams distributing informative paraphernalia. I could definitely feel the atmosphere of competition, with every persona running for office devising their own set of political strategies, making use of the media well. I already have the list of candidates whom I will be voting for in the national and local elections come May 10, provided that none of their faces be detected on any trees, or else suffer the consequence of being omitted. I plea that the trees be exonerated from piercing nails, as I wouldn’t want them victimized by human’s pursuit to victory and their endeavors, that even nature receive our unjust actions. I appeal to the voting public that we choose leaders whose catalogue of agenda fall into these categories: (1) a government with minimal tinge of corruption (2) concern for climate change (3) considerable amount of budget for education (4) support for farmers and Filipino scientists (5) and relentless assistance to the OFWs. We must be critical in scrutinizing the qualifications of those who are running, checking if they possess the strength and integrity to manage our nation, just to prove that they’re up to challenge of reshaping this country of ours which is in a quagmire of moral decadence and financial indebtedness. Let there be light in the elections…

Ze German’s Moldy Bread

Posted in Daily Encounters on 03/23/2010 by montecristomorillo

I was rummaging through our kitchen cabinets, looking for some foil or any zip-pak plastic containers to store the grapes I bought fresh from the market. Upon opening the cabinet located on the upper, right hand corner of the room, I saw to my repugnance, a rotting loaf of bread which was given to us by Per & Dahlia, a couple who migrated from Germany to the Philippines. Based on my impeccable recollections, the wheat bread was still oven fresh and bewitching in appearance when it was delivered right at our doorsteps, still with those curls of smoke and aroma that was captivating. And what turned of the bread was beyond comparison to its previous aesthetic looks. The bread smelt of stale air, with patches of molds almost entirely covering the form, creating a pattern of an archipelago seen on a map. It was utterly disgusting to the sight! I pulled out a razor sharp knife from the wooden drawer and pierced the center of bread, removing it from its current position, leaving traces of fungi on the surface. While transferring it to a no longer used ceramic plate, the sunlight that permeated through our windowpane revealed the tiny spores of mold lifting off, comparable to that of dandelions blown by the air. Tracing back through time, I was probably in a hurry during those moments when the bread was given to us, neglecting the proper way and art of storing baked products. I forgot to cool the bread first before putting it away at room temperature, which apparently ignited the propagation of molds on the food, producing a carpet of moss-like substance. I could’ve tasted its crispy crust and soft inside, enjoying it with jam or marmalade perhaps, while drinking lemonade on the afternoon. But most of all, I felt guilty for ‘ze’ Germans, whose effort in creating it was put all into waste. I owe them the apology…

To make amends, I would probably send them a casserole of clam chowder which they’re obsessively delirious with…

A Fulfilled Prediction

Posted in Daily Encounters on 03/21/2010 by montecristomorillo

Just this gray morning, I was the one manning the cashier, giving out changes to new customers and loyal patrons of our quaint restaurant. As part of my habit, I would apply alcohol in order to, of course, get rid of the germs and and bacteria inhabiting on the bedraggled paper bills and coins. But as it turned out, my hygienic custom was misconstrued by one particular and unfamiliar customer: a stocky woman, probably around her 50s, wearing this humongous white turban, a silky blouse studded with shimmering beads that was tossed back and forth by the gusts of wind generated by the electric fan, and carrying this cardboard drawn with an image of a detailed hand with captions written all over —a fortune teller. Having finished her copious meal, she stood up and waded her way through the throng of other diners, walking toward me to pay her bill. She handed me her payment, which I delightedly accepted with the sincerest smile ever, and rubbed some alcohol on my skinny hands.

That action, referring to my purpose of purging the filthy organisms, triggered the old woman to engage on a verbal assault, bombarding me with a tirade. I was taken aback by her sudden burst of emotional and cruel dialogue, even made worse by the gesture of her right hand…the dreaded dirty finger! I was tight-lipped, clueless as to how I would react. Her rant went like this: “You, there! Are you insulting me? Are you making a mockery out of me just because I am garbed like this? You think my money is unclean compared to that of others here? Do you want to end up soaked on that alcohol of yours? Just ask me! You unclean people! You disgust me! Hmpf!” And then she went outside, followed by the eyes of those who witnessed the scandalous behavior.

I could’ve retorted to her wrong impression but, out of respect, I declined the thought. The old woman conceived the idea that I belittled her, considered her as a dreg in the echelon of society, which wasn’t my intention at all. I felt sorry for her…

As if there was a needle that pricked my skin, I was dumbfounded to realize that my horoscope proved true: “on this very day, someone will be pissed at you”. Whoa! Bizarre!