FHM, people.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that yours truly has crossed over from moderately respected internet star/unhaver of consensual sex to moderately respected internet star who gets to interview hot women wearing shiny bikinis and gets paid to write about it on the internet/unhaver of consensual sex.
I know. The abovementioned statement is quite vague but if you've ever read even one entry on this blog, you'd know that Mike Villar is very fond of fluffy, long-winded intros that nobody even reads. Anyway, allow me to explain.
I am a very ambitious man. Someday, I dream of amassing enough wealth to allow for an early retirement so I could spend the rest of my days travelling the country, meeting new and interesting people; and most importantly, dealing a signifcant amount of damage if not totally destroying my body with drugs and alcohol. Every day I wake up and I become more and more aware of my own mortality. Realistically speaking, I think I have about twenty good years left until all the heavy drinking, substance abuse and having unprotected sex with sub-500 peso prostitutes takes its hefty toll on me.
Also, I am TERRIBLE when it comes to money. The fact that I habitually make bad, impulsive purchases (The latest being a moleskine notebook that costs 1,200 pesos. I mean what the fuck do I need a notebook for? I'm illiterate. Really, I just dictate my posts to my mom and she types it for me) only serves to compound this problem.
Imagine, I'm 24 years old and all I have is a measly 3,000 pesos in my bank account. That's just sad if not downright pathetic. I, however, have been trying everything I can to improve this financial quandary. Besides my 9-5, I also steal canned goods from the 7-11 in Zabarte road, furtively slipping Ma-Ling and Sardines into the inner pocket of my jacket while my friends distract the security guards so I can sell them to the squatters in my neighborhood for 75% of the retail price. Also, after I finalize the deal with my Colombian contacts, I'll probably start a small drug cartel somewhere in Quezon City.
Really, all I'm saying here is that at this point, I am willing to do anything for a quick buck. Except give handjobs to weird Japanese men from the back of my parked car along Roxas Boulevard. I only did that once and it's only because I didn't have enough money to pay for my last semester in college. Now, let's never talk about that again.
So when FHM asked me if I wanted to do an interview for them in exchange for a little cash and shiny bracelets, I immediately said yes; and I did so without even taking into consideration the fact that I am quite possibly the worst person anybody can ask to interview hot, bikini-clad women.
Here's my interview with Rachel Cahalane. You decide.
One thing you might notice is that despite the fact that I am the Asian Sex Champion, there are no sexy questions or anything that pertains to sex for that matter in the interview. I have a very good explanation to that:
I am a Gentleman. That is if by "Gentleman" you mean somebody who, 5 minutes prior to the interview, excused himself to masturbate into a dirty shirt lying somewhere in the studio's bathroom. Also, I get nervous around hot women. In fact, I got all paranoid and shit a mere 15 minutes into the interview and accused the interviewee of being a communist and a slut. I then proceeded to lie on the floor to do crunches and managed to do five which is like a personal best.
In my defense, I did ask a couple of sexy questions but because of the sheer vulgarity of my questions, they ended up on the cutting room floor. Also, asshole, FHM is not a porno magazine so questions like "You know, there was this one time I got high smoking some crazy leaves I found in my backyard and tried to fuck an electrical socket. Do you have any similar experiences?" are generally frowned upon.
What the fuck are you? Gestapo?
Again here's the interview, and for what it's worth, give Rachel a high rating because, I don't know. Girls like getting high ratings when they pose for sexy magazines I guess. Whatever.
