The Banana Gangbang Rock Festival Aftermath - A night of Fail
The evening of The Banana Gangbang Rock festival found me, my incredibly high blood pressure, and nine other people crammed inside an SUV negotiating rush hour traffic along EDSA.
Last week was, arguably, the most stressful week I’ve ever had in my life and Saturday, capping it off, was nothing short of a disaster: I was tired, hungover like a bitch and was probably on the verge of suffering a mild stroke.
As I painstakingly traversed EDSA to get to Greenhills, it became apparent to me that If I am to get through the next couple of weeks with stress from work, home and a bunch of other sources buttfucking me from all sides, I would probably need to start doing Shabu or some other amphetamine derivative to give me energy boosts because, seriously, this shit is just impossible.
(But wait, now that I think about it, I don’t really want to get started with drugs again for a variety of reasons. Primarily because a drug habit is expensive and I am terrible with money—A couple of days ago, I came this close to buying an 80 thousand peso laptop before I realized that hey, wait a second, I have no fucking money. And if I carded the damn thing, HSBC Collection Commandos are going to make sure that I won’t see my family alive again.
Also, for someone who’s in his late twenties and who’s only moderately famous to have a drug problem is like ewww. Whatev.)
Anyway, instead of drugs, I’ve turned to an even more potent poison—Coca Cola—to cope lately. And yes, you better start praying for me. It has been working really well so far; I pop several cans of coke a day and it keeps me focused and alive all day, until of course I get home and replace my coke drip with a couple of bottles of Red Horse in an effort to make my dying heart explode faster.
On the average, I think I can safely put the number of cans of coke I consume daily in the neighborhood of five. On the night of the Banana Gangbang Rock Festival, a night that capped off an intensely infuriating work week, I actually lost count in regards to how many cokes I had but my conservative estimate puts the number at around seven.
So I got to Bela Bar at around 9pm and, at that point, my body was filled with exorbitant amounts of sugar and caffeine that if you were close enough to me, you’d probably hear my heart buzzing.
As if that wasn’t enough, I also had the biggest headache and was so nauseous that I felt like any sudden movement would invariably cause me to puke my testicles out my mouth or my brain to explode or something
But wait, I’m Mike “Fucking” Villar, since when did I let something as stupid as a possible flu get in the way of rocking? WHEN? I’m Mike “Fucking” Villar, and again I ask you, when did I let something as stupid as “law” to get in the way of RAPE?
No, wait. FUCK!
Anyway, yeah, so I might have been coming down with a flu, big deal. If Michael Jordan can drop 38 points on the Jazz with a flu, then I sure as hell can get up there and give the audience the gift of ROCK flu and all. All I need is an Advil and probably a bonamine.
So I asked Marco and Rey to walk around the vicinity with me to find a drug store right? FAIL.
It turns out that the nearest drugstore was like three blocks away.
I got to the drugstore and immediately started arguing with the pharmacist guy because he said that I cannot take a bonamine and an advil and how I should only take one or the other. I was all like “Dude, fuck you, just because you know all these fancy drug generic names doesn’t make you a fucking doctor. I had two years of med schooling under my belt. Now what do you say you hand over the fucking bonamine AND the fucking advil NOW?”
After a few more minutes of arguing with the pharmacist guy which ended with him saying “My lord and savior Jesus Christ will punish you”, he finally handed over the pills to me which I promptly popped and washed down with bottled iced tea. FAIL.
I headed back to the bar and now, after popping the pills I insisted on buying even after a professional who knows drugs and their effect on people dissuaded me to do so, I not only feel nauseous and light headed, I was also seeing double for some reason. But because I had a shitty week, I was hell bent on doing only one thing: To get really fucked up. less than an hour later, I had four bottles of empty Red Horse bottles to my credit. FAIL.
I don’t know if it’s just me but the effect of Advil, Bonamine, Iced tea, beer and like 200 cigarettes made me feel high as a kite. My vision started to get all blurry, my heart rate accelerated and of course, I started to sweat and I began shivering—I was fucked up. In a good way.
When Zoo took the stage, I was hypnotized, by the time they played their second song, if anyone yelled “Everyone! quick! Let’s whip out our birds and masturbate to their music!” I would’ve dropped my pants and started flogging my dolphin in less than three seconds. When Mannequin played, anybody could’ve yelled “Everyone! Let’s eat napkins!” and I would’ve started making napkin salad and the bar would be out of napkins in no time. This is the only way I can describe how fucking high I was.
When Marco Palinar went up on stage and played his guitar like how a man should play with a woman’s body, I doubled up on the floor and made a noise similar to that of a big dog getting kicked in the stomach. It was over for me. I orgasmed without touching my bird all thanks to the awesomeness of the music.
My band, Tempestuous’, set was pretty uneventful save for a few times when my mic died and I had to shuffle back and forth between the wired mic and the wirless mic which is funny in itself. I think.
And what can I say about Lose Your Beer Belly capping off the night? Well, all I can say is Bok, Lose Your Beer Belly Vocalist Guy, is made of SEX; and I could totally imagine him, Ade and myself making out after making sweet, sweet music together.
All in all I had a great time. I especially had a great time not talking to people because I was high off my mind. I mean, I think I saw Ria Jose, Kring, and poyt in the event, but because I was too busy talking to my uncle, King Arthur over at Camelot on my imaginary cellphone, I didn’t get the chance to speak with them. I’m really sorry guys. Tell you what though, when you guys hold an event, you don’t have to talk to me. Just make sure I have my beer, my advil and my bonamine and I’d be fine.
Anyway, I would like to thank the following people for being there and making the event 9 times more awesome:
- Ade Magnaye
- Fritz Tentativa
- Sasha Manuel
- Rico Mossesgeld
- Helga Weber
- Rico Sta. Cruz
- Peter Juan
- Jen Juan
- Pau Araos
- Lauren Dado
- Noemi Dado
- Butch Dado
- Karla Redor
- Jhay Rocas
- Penny Monasterial
Here are some pictures from my Flickr Photo set
More Pictures!
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